


Striptease!

by roe87



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Stucky - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Arnim Zola gets his just desserts, Avengers as strippers, BAMF Sam Wilson, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky vs. Pierce, Canon-Typical Violence, Caper Fic, Comedy, Crack Treated Seriously, Crime Drama, First Meetings, Gay Bucky Barnes, Howard Stark still gets bumped off, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Movie AU, Murder Mystery, Past Bucky Barnes/Brock Rumlow, Pierce is a sleaze, Police, Protective Steve Rogers, Sorry Howard, Stripper!Bucky, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Up all night to get Bucky, awful ex-husband Brock Rumlow, bad parent Brock Rumlow, cop!steve, kid!Natasha, meet ugly, murders take place off page, no onpage murders, single dad bucky barnes, sorry but i had to stick to the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roe87/pseuds/roe87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes must confront the naked truth: to take on the system, he must first take it off. </p><p>When his ex-husband gets custody of their daughter, Natasha, Bucky needs money to fight the legal case to get her back. As a result, he takes a job dancing at a strip club in Miami, where he befriends an imposing bouncer named Sam Wilson. </p><p>The gentlemen’s club world of exotic dream-boys and whooping patrons is skewered in this lively comedy-drama. Bucky strips to conquer, then faces unintended consequences when a horny hound-dog of a congressman, Alexander Pierce, fixates on him.</p><p>Cash, blackmail, murder—the legislator has a lot of shady tools at his fingertips, but against Bucky he’s outmatched.</p><p>Bucky may strip for a living, but it’s the politician and his cronies who end up exposed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Movie au.
> 
>  
> 
>  **Warning for slurs used** for sex workers throughout, referred to as 'whore' or 'hooker', and lots of sexism and bad behaviour from sleazy politicians. 
> 
>  
> 
> Huge kudos to the wonderful **Nevermindirah** for their help with this: thanks, hun! :p  
>  ~ 
> 
> Chapter One warnings: strip clubs (obviously…) drunken violence (one guy hitting another with a bottle) mild threat, off-page murder, sexual harassment, sleazy old politicians, all of Hydra as politicians, blackmail, and Bucky Barnes stripping. :p
> 
>    
> ~

At the Fort Lauderdale family justice court in Florida, Judge Schmidt finally delivered his verdict. “Considering the best interest and well-being of the child,” he began.

Bucky Barnes held his breath.

“She will stay with the parent who best fits her needs. Therefore,” Judge Schmidt went on, “Mr Barnes, you may make visitation...”

_Shit,_ Bucky thought.

“…every other week, and on Christmas Eve.”

“Your honor,” Bucky tried to reason, “my ex-husband is addicted to pills, _and_ he’s a thief! Because of his record, I lost my job as a secretary for the FBI.”

The judge just looked at Bucky, not even bothering to hide his disdain. Then he glanced over at Brock, Bucky’s no good ex-husband, and smiled fondly. “Brock was the finest high-school tailback I ever saw. Of course he’s had his run-ins with the law, lost his way--” A sharp look directed at Bucky. “--but he’s made his _accommodations_ with the authorities. Being an informer for the vice squad--”

“Hardly qualifies him to raise a seven-year-old!” Bucky interrupted.

“Neither does being a parent without a job,” the judge shot back.

“But I lost it because of _him!_ ” Bucky pleaded, already feeling like he’d failed.

“Mr Barnes, my decision is final.” The judge banged his gavel and called, “Next case!”

Bucky had to swallow hard to hold back tears.

He’d failed. He’d failed to keep Natasha.

When he looked over at his ex-husband, the creep was grinning like a shark.

~

~  

_Three months later_

On the busiest strip near Hollywood Beach, just south of Fort Lauderdale, a sleek car pulled up to the front of a gentlemen’s club. “Welcome to Fury’s Funhouse, gentlemen,” the valet greeted, as the driver got out.

“Keep it close,” the harried driver said, handing over a sizeable tip. He paused, then added another couple of bills. “Keep it _very_ close.”

“You got it!” The valet took the keys.

The passenger in the back got out, and strode forth to the club with a slow strut.

“Last stop, okay?” Sitwell, assistant-cum-bodyguard, pleaded. They’d already been to three strip clubs tonight. “What do you say, congressman?”

“ _Booty!_ ” Congressman Pierce slurred, already drunk. “I want boys with strong thighs and plump booty. The night is young and full of promise!”

“Great,” Sitwell murmured.

Another car pulled up, and a bachelor party tumbled out at the club’s entrance.

“Now look, guys, this has to be the last one,” the bachelor was telling his friends. “We got a rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Pepper thinks I’m staying late at work. What if she calls?” His friends herded him into the club, heedless of his protests.

Inside, the lights were on low, tables filling up fast as the evening got underway. The main stage was at the far back, with a long runway cutting through the middle of the club. Eager customers chose seats close to the runway stage, offering up dollar bills to entice the dancer.

“We’ve got the legendary God of Thunder from Fort Lauderdale on for you later!” Maria the DJ said into the mic. “The beautiful Quicksilver wrapping up on the great stage here…”

“Nice spot, isn’t it, Sitwell?” Pierce said to his aid, finding them a table at the back.

“It’s very uplifting, sir,” Sitwell agreed reluctantly. He just had to keep the congressman out of trouble.

Topless waiters took drinks orders. One stopped by a table near the front. “Hey, Mr Karpov. The usual Evian with lime?”

Vasily Karpov nodded, settling in at his table. “What time is he on?” he asked eagerly.

“Should be soon.” The waiter guessed who Karpov was asking about; they all knew who his favorite dancer was.

“From the famous Coney Island Circus, put it together for the fabulous Hawkeye!” the DJ announced, introducing the next dancer.

~

~      

Backstage, it was even busier, as dancers rushed to change costumes and get ready.

“God, it’s freezing,” Bucky muttered, still on hold on his cell phone. He shivered, wearing only a thin white shirt to cover himself, his booty shorts on underneath. “They could store meat in here.” A half-naked stripper walked across his line of sight and he added, “In fact, they do store meat in here.”

Finally the operator came back on, and Bucky told them, “No, I’ve been trying all day!” He groaned at their response, sinking lower in his chair. “Are you positive? No, thank you for trying.” He ended the call.

In the spot next to him, Thor looked over with concern. “You cannot reach her?”

“Brock’s phone must be cut off,” Bucky said. “I just know he’s moved with her again to some new dump.” He shoved his phone back into his bag and ran his fingers through his long hair. “God, what a nightmare! He drives around with her in that van of his. Drinking, taking pills. I bet he doesn’t even think about putting a seat belt on her.”

“He sounds like a dirt bag,” Pietro agreed. “You hang in there, pal. You’ll get your daughter back.”

Thor agreed, “That judge will see the light.”

“It’s expensive light, I’ll tell you that,” Bucky sighed. “It’s gonna cost me another six thousand dollars for this appeal, and I’m already broke. Is there even a chance I can make that in six weeks?”

“You’ll have to dance day and night,” Pietro said, “and hope some Arab sheik shows up.”

Bucky smiled wryly. “I love you, guys. I do. But I can’t work here when I go back to court.” He shook his head. “Oh, yes, your honor! I found a new job, I’m working at Fury’s Funhouse.”

Thor shrugged, unperturbed. “This is honest work, my friend. You have nothing to hide.”

“I know that, and you know that. But the judge won’t. Not Judge Schmidt.” Bucky breathed a sigh and stared at his reflection in the mirror. When he tried to brush his hair back, his fingers were shaking. “God, I still get nervous before I have to go out there.”

“You’ll get over it,” Pietro said, changing into another costume.

Bucky smiled in response, but he really couldn’t imagine getting used to that feeling. He hoped he wasn’t stuck here long enough to find out.

~

~

“You guys having a good time?” Nick Fury asked the table of whooping patrons. One noisy bachelor, and all of them drunk off their asses. A lot messier than their usual customers.

Here’s hoping they’d behave themselves, he thought. Money was money.

“I’m getting married!” the bachelor declared, throwing money at the stage with a cheer.

“You’ve come to the right place,” Fury gritted out. _Be nice to the customers, be nice to the customers_. “Hey, Hawkeye!” he called to the dancer currently onstage. “These guys are having a party!” He let them whoop and holler, distracted by Hawkeye shaking his junk in their direction to keep the tips coming.

Fury wandered away from their table. “Keep an eye on them bachelors,” he said to his head of security, Sam Wilson.

Sam glanced up from his cell phone and assessed the situation. Nothing more than some regular, middle class suits sitting at a table. “Yeah, they look like real trouble,” Sam deadpanned.

“It’s time to strap yourselves in, because you are going for a ride!” the DJ announced. “It’s his eighth week here! Put your hands together and make him feel good. For the one, the only, Winter Soldier!”

Sam put his phone away and ducked in backstage.

~

~

Clint entered the dressing room fresh off the stage, grinning excitedly. “Hey, think that super-hot basketball player’s at table six.”

“What’s he wearing?” Pietro asked.

“Tank top and gold chains.”

Pietro snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Bucky was still rushing to pull his costume on; nothing but an oversized white shirt and black suit jacket over his shorts, with his black boots on. He’d scooped his hair up under a trilby hat, and was hurrying to loosely wrap a black silk tie around his neck.

He spotted Sam. “How do I look?” he asked, tucking the tie inside his jacket.

“Better than me,” Sam told him. “And that ain’t easy.” Bucky smiled, but Sam could tell he wasn’t happy. “You talk to her?”

Bucky shook his head. “Brock’s phone’s out of order. I think he moved again.”

“You know, I’d embrace the opportunity to kick his ass for you,” Sam offered.

This got a genuine smile from Bucky. “That’s really thoughtful, Sam, and I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’d help me in court.”

Fury appeared from behind the curtained entrance, saw Bucky stalling and snapped, “Soldier! Move it! I can’t have an empty stage.”

Bucky hustled through the curtain, but Sam let out a huff and said, “Man, let the chumps wait.”

~

~

The music had already started as Bucky walked onstage, just in time. He slowed his steps, getting into character. At least he picked his own music here. That made the job slightly more bearable. He glanced down at the eager customers leaning in on the long, thin stage; bills clutched in their hands.

_Oh, well_. Time to work for a living.

He struck a pose in time with the music, as _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ played through the club.

A few whoops called out, but Bucky didn’t rush, he took his time. He teased the audience, slowly unbuttoning the jacket and letting it fall open to reveal the shirt.

He dropped low to the floor; rising back up slowly, hands dragging up his thighs and lifting the hem of the shirt. Bucky then turned around and grabbed for the pole. One wide circle, then he spun around and tipped his head back, letting the hat fall and his hair come tumbling out.

When he stood back up, he ruffled his hair and winked at the patrons. A few of them had already started vying for his attention, waving wads of bills.

Bucky still took his time. Circling his hips, he let the jacket slowly fall from his shoulders, then tossed it away. Now it was the tie; Bucky pulled at it with one hand, pushing his other hand into his long hair to move it out of his eyes.

When he finally removed the tie, he threw that into the audience. They whooped and called out over the music as Bucky lifted the shirt up, giving teasing views of his crotch.

Now he went in for the tips; Bucky danced closer to the audience, anyone waving their money. He lifted the shirt for them to slip the notes into his shorts –and cop a feel at the same time—before moving off to the next customer. The trick was to keep moving and not let any one of them get too good a feel. Bucky didn’t particularly like being groped, but it kinda came with the job.

Bucky danced from one gropey pair of hands to the next, then he moved back along the stage, pulling open the shirt and shrugging it off. He flung the shirt out of the way, and rolled his bare abs at another customer.

 

Over at one of the back tables, Sitwell looked at his congressman, whose eyes were glued to the dancer onstage. “I have to go to the restroom,” Sitwell shouted over the music. “You’ll behave?”

Pierce nodded and continued to sit, spellbound. He was enthralled by this particular dancer. The brunet was gorgeous; toned and sculpted in all the right places, and he moved with a fluid grace to the music.

“An angel appeared,” Pierce muttered to himself, watching intently. “An angel of pure delight.”

 

 

Bucky was barely halfway through his routine before some drunk patron got up onstage with him, tripped and face-planted onto Bucky’s leg, gripping on tight with hot hands. Bucky tried to move away, but the guy clung on like a limpet.

“I’m getting married this weekend,” the guy shouted over the music, drunk and happy. “To Pepper!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Do you love Pepper?” he asked.

“Very much!”

“Then go home to her,” Bucky told him flatly. Then, because he couldn’t get this guy off without using force –and he absolutely _had_ to keep himself out of trouble before his appeal— Bucky called for Sam.

~

~            

“Listen up!” Fury commanded the attention of his dancers backstage. “The XXX-Men Club is killing us, and you know why?”

“They have free buffalo wings,” Clint piped up.

Fury shot him a look. “No.”

“Their dancers turn tricks,” Pietro pointed out.

“ _No_ ,” Fury said, “it’s because their dancers dance _fast_. And fast means sweat. And sweat means more drinking.”

The dancers mumbled replies, just as shouts from front of house filtered through.

“What’s going on?” Fury demanded, as Sam cursed and ran out of the dressing room through the side door.

“Sam!” Bucky spotted him, and indicated to the patron still clamped around his leg. In the noise and swirling lights, he hadn’t noticed a second man get up onstage until the guy was almost on top of them.

Bucky turned just as this old dude, wearing dark glasses, swung a bottle and cracked it over the head of the clinging, drunk man.

“Shit!” Bucky watched as the poor kid went down under the force of that blow. Bucky was now free, and he backed away warily, keeping his eyes on the old guy with the bottle.

Sam, watching, couldn’t believe his eyes; shit had hit the fan big time. The crowd were cheering this on, and he had to get Bucky to safety. He ran to the stage, when a guy in a suit appeared and brandished a small handgun, aimed upward at the ceiling but still _very_ much a gun.

“I got this!” the man shouted over the music.

Sam held his hands up and stopped short. The club was too noisy to reason with the guy, all he could do was watch as he got to the stage, clearly going for the old guy with the bottle. _Good_. If he was taking care of that whack-job, Sam could go take care of Bucky.

The suited gun-man grabbed the older guy and tried to drag him offstage. “Coming through, move out of the way!” He tried to yank the old guy away but he stumbled on his way down; and he was so drunk he just got back up again.

The other customers found it hilarious and applauded.

Regular patron Vasily Karpov stood up and called out, “Way to go, Mr Pierce!”

Sitwell winced. Well, their cover was blown. He had to get Pierce out of there, and hustled him away fast.

Once the two suits were clear, Sam bounded up onstage. “Back up!” he told the customers who wanted to get a closer look. “Back the hell up!”

Bucky was crouched down to check the guy who’d been bottled.

“You all right?” Sam asked him.

“I’m fine,” Bucky said. “How about this poor guy?”

“Good thing he was drunk,” Sam reasoned. “Let’s get him backstage.”

~

~

“I leave you alone for five minutes!” Sitwell stressed, trying to bundle Pierce into the car. “Will you get in? Watch your foot. Oh God, Zola’s gonna shit a brick.”

“Did I touch any boys?” Pierce drawled.

Sitwell sighed. He _really_ hated his job. “Not this time, but you _were_ recognized.”

~

~

_Don Shula hospital, Deerfield Beach_

 

Brock Rumlow pushed his adopted daughter, Natasha, on a wheelchair through the ward. All along the way, nurses stopped to coo over her.

“How are you, little angel?” one lady asked.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Natasha answered politely.

The lady patted her hand. “Kids just tear me up,” she said to Brock. She likely assumed he was a doctor, seeing as he was wearing a doctor’s jacket. Stolen, of course.

Brock smiled back smugly, and continued pushing the chair. “She’s a brave one.”

“You’ll be in my prayers,” the lady said.

“God bless you, ma’am,” Brock called over his shoulder.

He pushed Natasha down the hallway, found an exit door and, when no one was passing by, quietly exited the hospital. He wheeled her down the ramp, then tipped the chair to deposit Natasha on the grass.

“Last stop, little ‘un.”

“Daddy, you’re mean,” Natasha told him, picking herself up.

Brock ignored her protest, and told her, “Evers and Jennings, sweetheart. This is the new model.” He grinned at the wheelchair before moving it toward the parked white van.

Natasha watched him, and asked, “You’re happy?”

“Oh, mucho happy, baby!” Brock unlocked his van, and stashed the wheelchair away. “C’mon, get in the van.”

Natasha was busy singing to herself, “Mucho, mucho, mucho!”

“Natasha, get in.” Brock picked her up, hoisting her into the van. “Hurry up, we’re in a loading zone. We don’t wanna break the law.”

He shut the doors and strutted around to the driver’s side.

Natasha had gone quiet again, and as Brock started the engine, she asked, “Daddy, did you tell my daddy that we moved?”

Brock grit his teeth. Natasha was his adopted daughter by marriage, and while she did call him daddy, she knew that Bucky was her biological daddy, and had always called him _my daddy_.

It kinda got on Brock’s last nerve.

After all, the courts had decided _he_ was the fittest parent at the custody hearing. So what if he’d bribed the judge?

Served Bucky Barnes right for breaking up with him.

“Of course I did, sweetie pie,” Brock lied to Natasha. “Of course I did.”

~

~

_Middle River trailer park, Fort Lauderdale_

 

Inside a grimy, rundown trailer, Bucky had sought out his ex-sister-in-law for help but, as usual, she wasn’t exactly welcoming.

Her husband, on the other hand, was a different matter. “How about a wine cooler, Bucky?” Sinthea’s husband offered. “I got mango, passion fruit...”

“Water would be just fine, Alberto. Thanks.” Bucky tried to ignore Sinthea’s letch of a husband, and addressed her, “Sinthea, the reason I stopped by is Brock’s moved again, and his cell phone is disconnected. I _really_ need his new phone number.”

“Yeah?” Sin sneered at him. “Well, you come to the wrong place.”

“Please, Sin, I hardly sleep nights for worrying. I just really-”

“Look, _James_ , I got no idea where my brother is, okay?”

Bucky fell silent, fast losing hope he’d ever see Natasha again. He didn’t know what else to do; Brock had simply vanished.

A commotion outside drew Sin’s attention; barks and yelps. She glanced out the window, then swore. “Those damn dogs got no restraint.” She pulled on protective gear.            

“Careful, sweetie,” her husband trilled.

“Shut up!” Sin snapped at him, before storming out of the trailer to shout at her dogs.

Alberto chuckled. “She’s all caught up with them cubs,” he said wistfully, bringing over a glass of water.

Then he turned his sleazy smile on Bucky. “Some of the guys down at the nuclear plant...” he began, as Bucky tried not to roll his eyes too obviously, “they were asking me if you’d do, like...” Alberto waggled his eyebrows. “Private parties?”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said flatly.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Alberto let his eyes rove over Bucky’s form. “Because I’ll bet that you are a great dancer.”

Bucky tried to ignore his letching, and insisted, “Alberto, I’ll go crazy if I don’t get Brock’s new number. I promised Nat I would call her every day and--”

“Well, I hear he moved.” Alberto sank down heavily into the couch, sitting far too close to Bucky.

“Alberto, where is he?”

“You have to ask Sin about that. He calls her about twice a week.” Alberto snorted. “Needs money, as usual.”

_Calls?_

Bucky tried to tamp down his excitement at the realisation; this could be the way he’d get Brock’s number.

Over on the dresser was Sin’s cell phone.

Alberto was still leering at Bucky. “You’re looking real good, Buck. You work out?”

_Ew, seriously?_ How did Sin put up with this guy?

Then again…

Bucky shifted closer to Alberto and, in the poorest display of over-acting since his marriage to Brock, he closed his eyes and tried to look pained. “Oh, God,” he moaned quietly, “I’ve got such a headache.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alberto snapped to attention. “You want some Advil?”

Bucky opened his eyes and smiled brightly. _Wow, that was easy_. “Oh, Alberto, that would be _so great_.”

“Well, you sit right here.” Alberto grinned. “I’m gonna fix up that mean old headache.” He heaved himself up from the couch and went off to the bedroom.

Bucky didn’t waste a moment. He got up, grabbed Sin’s phone, and quietly slipped out the door.

~

~

“We had a good day, baby!” Brock sing-songed, pulling the stolen wheel-chairs out of his van.

Natasha noticed his phone ringing, despite Brock trying to ignore it.

“Phone’s ringing. Think it’s my daddy?”

Brock almost dropped a chair on his foot. He forced on his best innocent face. “No, little ‘un,” he said sweetly, “I talked to Bucky already, and he said he’s too busy to call you.”

~

~

Bucky was having a bad day. Even though he had Brock’s new number, and was calling from Sin’s phone, the jerk never picked up.

It felt like no matter how close Bucky came to speaking with Natasha again, everything conspired against him.

And now he had to do a shift at Fury’s. Bucky sighed as he pulled his costume on backstage. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. Another pair of booty shorts, these ones in a soft, sheer fabric with a silky shirt to match.

Fury had been on at them all to do fast numbers, but Bucky didn’t feel like it. He requested for a chair to be placed onstage for his first slot. It wasn’t busy yet anyway, just the regulars sitting in before the club got warmed up. They wouldn’t mind a slow number.

If they did, they could kiss his ass.

Bucky came onstage to his music, walking slowly, slowly to the chair placed at the other end of the stage, running his hands up his chest and through his hair.

Sensing the sombre mood, the lights had come down a little and gone all blue. Bucky peeled the shirt away and let it drop to the floor.

A customer leant in, grabbing for Bucky’s calf and holding onto him. “Nice leg,” he laughed. “Maybe I’ll take it home.”

“I recommend you let go,” Bucky told him.

Sam was already storming up behind the guy, so Bucky was able to remain calm.

Seriously, what was with customers lately? He’d been grabbed more in the last few days than he’d ever been grabbed in his entire dancing career.

“C’mon, gorgeous,” the man slurred at him, “I’ll give you three hundred for--” but then Sam was yanking the guy back in a headlock, and Bucky was free to continue his number.

He moved toward the chair –a sturdy, velvet covered one with no arms—and circled it slowly. In his mind, Bucky tried to imagine someone sitting there, someone hot, to get him in the mood.

He’d never really pictured anyone specific before, and it didn’t help him get in the mood for a sultry chair dance when his love life was non-existent. Since the divorce and trying so hard to get Natasha back, Bucky had put everything else on hold.

Besides coming to the club, he didn’t socialise; he’d lost touch with friends… and he was lonely.

It would’ve been really nice to be held in strong arms after a crappy day… or a crappy few months… and feel cared for.

But he had to make do with an inanimate chair onstage.

Bucky leaned over the chair to run his hands on the velvet, long hair falling in his face. He wasn’t even going for eye contact with customers tonight, he was in his own little world.

Maybe a slow number hadn’t been the brightest idea, he was zoning out.

Bucky tipped forward onto the chair, balancing on his forearms and held his legs aloft in a perfect V. That got a few cheers from the crowd. He slowly sank back down, sitting upright on the chair and spread his legs at the audience, running his hands over his body.

He still didn’t want to look at them, though, so he closed his eyes.

 

In the audience, Mr Karpov was at his usual table, but this time he was writing a note on a napkin as he watched his favorite dancer.

~

Fury watched Bucky onstage, noting the slow ballad he was dancing to. “What’s with him tonight?” he said to Sam. He’d specifically told the dancers to do _fast_ , dammit.

“Asshole husband disappeared with the kid again,” Sam informed him.

Fury shook his head, but didn’t say any more about dancers and their personal drama. He went off to the bar to talk to Coulson.

 

Sam came backstage after Bucky’s number was up. Bucky’s hands were full of crumpled notes that he’d collected, and he tried to give some to Sam as a thank you for dealing with the grabby customer before.

“I don’t suppose you’d accept this in appreciation?”

Sam smiled at him. “No need. I have another plan.” In a quiet corner of the dressing room, he showed Bucky a clear zip-lock bag with a large, dead cockroach inside it. “Senor Cucaracha here is gonna make me rich.”

“Oh, my God!” Pietro appeared out of nowhere and leaned over Sam’s shoulder. “Is that a roach?”

Sam frowned at him. “No, it’s a fucking shrimp. Now, move, you’re in my light.”

Bucky smiled, but Pietro wasn’t amused. Bucky waited until Pietro had gone before he spoke again. “So, this is the new brainstorm?”

Sam pulled a yoghurt pot from his bag. “The Wall Street Journal says this is the hottest selling yogurt on the market. I’ll bring this in...” He unzipped the bag and tipped the roach in, replacing the lid on the yoghurt before giving it a good shake. “I’ll say my hair fell off from the shock. Boom. They pay off big time.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“My lawyer thinks it’s a genius idea,” Sam defended.

“Your lawyer has an office over a porno store, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “Call me a dreamer. I don’t want to work here forever.”

“I can relate to that,” Bucky said.

Boy, could he relate.

“Hey, Buck!” Clint called out as he entered the dressing room. “Note from Mr Karpov!” He waved a piece of paper in the air, causing the other dancers to laugh and make comments.

Bucky could safely say he wasn’t fond of getting notes from customers, so he took the paper from Clint warily.

“What’s it say?” Clint asked. The others crowded in too.

“Dear Mr Barnes,” he read out, eyes widening as he saw the rest of the note. “I can help you get your daughter back. I ask nothing in return but a--” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “--kind smile.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“He is an odd man,” Thor affirmed.

“You guys,” Clint said, “he is totally harmless. He’s been coming here for years and he’s always been polite.”

Sam gave Clint a look.

“Oh, there’s a P.S,” Bucky said, reading it out. “Also, could you add Kenny G to your routine? Anything from his Christmas album.” Bucky pulled a face.

“That’s sweet,” Clint said.

Bucky was too busy thinking about how to get Natasha back. “Seriously, it couldn’t hurt to talk to him, right?” Bucky wondered aloud.

“Only talking,” Sam told him before he left the room, “no touching.”

Fury entered the dressing room as everyone was packing up to leave. “Men,” Fury addressed, “I have a major announcement. On Monday, I’m installing a ring.”

“Mud wrestling?” Thor asked.

Fury shook his head. “This is something that’s really happening,” he insisted. “It’s contemporary. It’s now. And it’s creamed-corn wrestling.”

The dancers blinked at him in confusion, before erupting into a chorus of complaints.

“ _Corn_ wrestling?” Clint scoffed.

“That’s disgusting!” Pietro said.

“I am not putting my hair in corn,” Thor decreed.

“What is this, a mutiny?” Fury stood there in disbelief as the dancers all grabbed their gear and left the dressing room for the night. Bucky did the same. “Barnes. Hey, Soldier!” Fury walked beside him.

“I don’t think so, boss,” Bucky told him. “No chance I’m gonna roll around naked in creamed corn, with drunk customers trying to stick niblets up my ass.”

“Not naked. Topless,” Fury stipulated. “Health Department won’t go for naked. Not with food products.”

“I always liked the Health Department,” Bucky said with relief.

“So you’ll think about it?”

“Not for one second.” Bucky kept walking.

“Hey, Barnes.” Fury walked alongside him. “You’re getting a big following here. Even with that shit music you play--”

“Gee, thanks.”

Fury pressed, “You go into the corn, you set a great example to the other guys…”

“No.”

“Okay, well, how about pasta wrestling? Now, _that’s_ classy. Linguine, rigatoni? Just nothing with meat or fish.”

“Nick, if I wanted to wrestle, I would’ve joined the WWE.” He waved goodbye as he stepped outside.

Thor was revving his motorbike in the parking lot, and waved to Bucky before he sped off.

Bucky was one of the last to leave, and as he walked to his car, he noticed he had a fan waiting for him.

Mr Karpov was there, holding a big bunch of flowers.

_Oh, boy_.

“These are for you, Mr Barnes,” Karpov offered the flowers to him, and Bucky took them warily.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him flowers… let alone a random fan who apparently knew his last name.

“Er, they’re great. Thank you.” He unlocked his car and chucked them inside, along with his bag and coat. “You can call me Bucky.”

“I can’t,” Karpov said earnestly. “I worship you too much.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m just trying to make a living, nothing special.”

“It’s your essence I worship,” Karpov gazed at Bucky with bright eyes. “If you were a nurse or a teacher, I’d feel the same.”

“Um, right.” Bucky rocked awkwardly on his heels, not sure what to say.

“You received my note?” Mr Karpov asked.

“I did and, you know, I was wondering what you had in mind.”

“I believe I can help you get your daughter back.” Karpov positively beamed with pride. “I believe I can get to Judge Schmidt.”

“How?” Bucky asked.

“Through a certain congressman who I’m certain will listen to me, because,” Karpov lowered his voice, “I know _some things_.”

“Things? Really?” Bucky kept his face carefully neutral. “Well, you know what, Mr Karpov? You seem swell and all, and you’ve been so supportive of me ever since I started here. But maybe you shouldn’t mess with anything too dangerous.”

Karpov shook his head. “Just give me a week,” he said with confidence.

~

~

_West Broward Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale_

 

“Pepper thinks I was working in my lab the night this happened,” Tony, wearing a neck brace, complained. “What do I tell her?”

“You say you left your lab, and a gang of kids jumped you,” Howard said, walking him out of the office. “In the meantime, we’ll print these photos--” He held the cell phone that belonged to one of Tony’s friends. “—and see what we have. I see _damages_. These strip joints are insured up to the ass.”

Tony didn’t seem convinced. “My neck really feels better, Dad,” he tried to protest.

“Oh, yeah?” Howard slapped him hard on the back. “How’s it feel now?”

He ignored his son yelping in pain and headed back to his office.

“Call Little Caesar’s,” he told the temp. “Order me a health pizza. Get some for yourself.”

“Oh, no, thank you, sir,” she replied. “I’m dieting. I’ll just grab a yoghurt out of the fridge.”

 

Out of a dozen yoghurt pots, she picked the one with a sticky label that said _Sam’s_ , and sat down to eat it.

The first mouthful was… really crunchy.

She peered into the yoghurt, and cautiously took another bite. This mouthful wasn’t so crunchy.

She shrugged and continued eating.

~

~

_South East district, Downtown Miami_

 

“This is a major disaster!” Arnim Zola raged inside his penthouse office, overlooking the ocean. “Major. Unbelievable. Without doubt the most asinine piece of human behavior I have ever heard of.”

“It’s never gonna happen again, Zola,” Pierce protested. “I’ve got it under control. You see...” He grinned. “I just _love_ naked men. It’s a character flaw. God’s testing me.”

“Oh, will you shut up!” Zola snapped. “You idiot.”

Pierce frowned at him. “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m a United States congressman.”

“I can’t?” Zola peered at him through his spectacles. “You go psycho in a strip club _six weeks_ before the election? It was all I could do to keep Baron von Strucker from strangling you with his bare hands.”

Pierce shifted uncomfortably. “Everybody has a bad night. If you’re under pressure like we are, in the public eye...” He shrugged. “Who recognized me?”

Zola sighed. “His name is Vasily Karpov. And he’s waiting outside.”

“ _Now_?” Pierce gaped.

“Now. We have to move on this before we get eaten alive.”

“Move on what?” Pierce was bemused. “If this is a shakedown, get Strucker to pay them off like normal. You're my political fixer. Why drag me into it?”

“Because,” Zola said calmly, “it’s not about money. He wants you to persuade Judge Schmidt to reverse a child custody case for some stripper.”

Pierce raised an eyebrow. “Some stripper… who he’s _porking_? It’s disgraceful to have a man like me deal with--”

“He’s _not_ porking the stripper.”

Pierce threw his hands up. “Well, then, why does he care?”

“Because he’s nuts!” Zola snapped. “That’s why he’s dangerous. If this was about sex, at least I could deal with him man to man, but this is real, fruitcake love.”

Pierce protested, “But Schmidt won’t listen to me either way.”

“You _can’t_ say that to this little creep, Alex,” Zola told him. “You must string him along. Use your charm.”

“What if he doesn’t go for it?” Pierce asked.

“Then we have a serious problem.” Zola glared at him before he went to open the door. “Mr Karpov! Come in and meet Congressman Pierce.”

Pierce turned on a dazzling smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr Karpov.”

~

~

_Lake_ _Okeechobee, Florida_

 

The flat surface of the water flashed in the sunlight. The woodland air surrounding the fresh water lake was calm and quiet. Steve Rogers sat back on the porch bench and sighed happily.

Everything was so peaceful, he couldn’t believe it was even on the same planet as Miami.

Peggy and Angie were out on the lake fishing, while their daughter Sharon was nearby, walking her dog along the shoreline.

Peggy had been pestering Steve for so long to take a trip with them, and Steve was pleased he’d finally made it out here. Though he and Peggy had remained friends since their dating days were over, he hadn’t really spent time with her or her family in so long.

Perhaps he’d make vacations with friends a regular thing.

“Steve!” Sharon’s cry cut through his thoughts, and he sat bolt upright. “Steve!” She was by the shoreline, waving for his attention. “There’s a floater!”

He got up and ran over to Sharon, where her dog was at the water’s edge, barking at the floating corpse nearby.

Even from this distance Steve could tell the poor guy was a goner, and he sighed.

_Oh, boy_.

“He’s still got his glasses on,” Sharon commented.

Steve frowned, and said to her, “Go call Peggy, and tell her to call the police.”

“But you’re the police?” Sharon said.

“I’m the Miami police,” Steve clarified. “We just need the local law here. Go on.”

Once Sharon had run off, Steve grabbed himself a long branch and carefully scrabbled down to the shoreline. He slipped and got one wet foot. “Man! Of all the lakes, in all the counties,” he muttered, reaching for the body with his branch, “you gotta float up in _mine_.”

~

~

_Deerfield Beach, Broward County_

_(north of Fort Lauderdale)_

 

“My daddy!” Natasha squealed in delight, rushing across the beach to Bucky’s open arms.

“Hey, baby girl!” Bucky scooped her up for a big hug. “I’ve been trying to reach you for so long.”

He couldn’t believe that _finally_ he was seeing his little girl.

“Heard you stole my sister’s phone!” Brock’s voice interrupted. “That’s a federal offense.”

“Natasha, wait for me, okay?” Bucky told her. “I’m gonna go talk to Brock.”

He sat Natasha down on his beach towel, and picked out the stolen cell phone from his bag.

He stalked over to Brock’s parked van. “Why do you keep moving?” Bucky demanded, tossing Sin’s phone through the open window at him. “How will Nat make any friends?”

Brock leered at him, and pocketed the phone. “Aren’t we the child psychologist.”

“It has nothing to do with child psychology, you moron!” Bucky hissed at him, trying to control his anger. “Where’s she going to go to school this year? Opa Locka? Here in Deerfield Beach? Have you even thought about it?”

Brock lit a cigarette and took a slow drag. “Yeah, I thought about it plenty.”

His eyes flickered up and down Bucky's body, before he smirked and asked, “How’s the stripping business?”

Bucky huffed in exasperation, and turned around to leave.

“Hey, you only got two hours!” Brock called after him. “That’s what the judge ruled fair and square. I’ll be right behind you just in case you’re thinking about snatching her!”

Bucky picked Natasha up into his arms and tried to ignore his moron of an ex-husband.

“Daddy, does snatch mean kidnap?”

Bucky forced a smile. “How’d you get so smart, huh? C’mon, let’s go for a swim.”

~

~

_West Broward Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale_

 

Sam still had his sunglasses on as he strode into Iron Fist porno store. He had an automatic drill strapped to his belt; it was easier to walk around with than a gun.

He went through a side door, up the stairs, and pulled out the drill. He banged on the door. “It’s Sam. Open up.”

As the door opened, he demanded, “Who ate my yoghurt?”

“It wasn’t me,” the secretary said, noticing the drill in his hand. “It was the temp.”

Sam let the incident be, for now, and asked, “Where’s Perry Mason?”

The secretary pointed him toward the main office. “Mr Stark is right through there.”

“Our good friend, Mr. Wilson!” Howard greeted, albeit a little nervous. “Come on in, we have lots to discuss.”

“No shit.” Sam shouldered his way into Starks’ office, still holding his drill.

Stark whispered to his secretary, “If I buzz twice, you say my mother’s on the line, and she has chest pains.”

~

~            

“What do you mean, he’s a wheelchair salesman?” Bucky asked carefully. He led Natasha back to their beach towel, both of them wet from their swim.

“We go to the hospitals,” Natasha said breezily, in that way kids do. “A lot of kids in chairs are really sick, and I wave at them, and they smile at me. Then we take the chair to Daddy's van.”

Bucky nodded, trying not to let the concern show on his face. “And do you do this every day?” He knelt and wrapped a clean towel around her.

Natasha nodded. “But on Fridays I stay with Aunt Sinthea.”

“That’s a wholesome environment,” Bucky said under his breath. He towelled Natasha’s wet hair gently.

“She has real wolves,” Natasha commented, which spiked fear in Bucky.

“Nat, baby, I don’t want you touching those animals,” he told her. “They’re not like dogs. They’re dangerous.”

Natasha nodded solemnly, gazing back at him with sad eyes.

Bucky bit his lip, trying to smile for her sake.

A car horn sounded, long, loud and obnoxious. Brock, obviously.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Time,” Natasha said quietly.

“Time,” Bucky sighed. He was worried how quiet and withdrawn she seemed. “Nat, I love you more than anything in the world. You know that in your heart, don’t you?”

She nodded, watching him. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, baby.” He hugged her close.

“Hey, let’s go!” Brock’s voice bellowed from across the beach.

Bucky bit back his tears, kept his voice steady as he said, “All right, you go on. I’ll bring your stuff.” He ushered Natasha along as he finished packing up her bag and towel.

“Hey, baby!” Brock opened the van door and hoisted Natasha inside. “Did you have a good day?”

Natasha nodded, but remained quiet as she watched her parents.

Bucky handed over Nat’s things, and said to Brock quietly, “She told me about your new profession. Really admirable.”

Brock winked at him. “At least I ain’t naked.”

Bucky gaped at him in disbelief. “Brock! You get caught using that child in a felony and Family Services will--”

“No way I’d get caught,” Brock interrupted, lighting another cigarette. “Got me one of them doctor’s jackets and a stethoscope,” he declared proudly. “Look like one of those docs on _ER_.”

“Brock, would you _think_ for once in your life?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Brock spat in disgust, “I don’t need no _stripper_ telling me how to behave.”

Bucky kept silent, and tamped down his anger. As much as he wanted to punch Brock in his damn face right now, he didn’t want to subject Natasha to that. Nor would it help his case in the long run if he was arrested for assault.

Instead, he smiled neutrally and said, “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

~

~          

“You know where that was taken?” Stark showed Sam a candid shot of a recent brawl from the club.

Sam said dryly, “Your mama’s birthday party.”

“Funny,” Stark replied. “Actually, it was in Fury’s Funhouse. Can you identify those people?”

“Yeah.” Sam pointed one by one, “Some old fool… A drunk fool… Bucky…”

“Bucky’s the stripper?”

Sam looked up. “What’d you say?”

“Bucky’s the stripper.”

Sam got up, brandishing his drill at Stark’s polished wood desk. “Dancer, asshole.”

The drill whirled to life but before it touched the table, Stark caved. “Dancer!” he agreed, “He’s a dancer! Don’t hurt my desk!”

Sam sat back down with his drill.

Stark took a breath. “My point is… The young man who was so savagely beaten is my client. Actually, he’s my son, too. Tony Stark.”

“No shit.” Sam didn’t care. “Too bad for him.”

“I don’t think so.” Stark grinned. “The third person in that photo is none other than Alexander Pierce.”

“So what?” Sam said.

Stark raised an eyebrow. “Do you follow politics, Mr Wilson?”

Sam took off his sunglasses and levelled Stark with a look, just because he could. “Do I look like I follow politics?”

Stark squirmed in his seat, but answered, “Alexander Pierce is the U.S. congressman from the fifth district. He’s up for re-election soon.”

“You gonna put the squeeze on him.” Sam nodded along. “Nice. What’s that got to do with me?”

“I’ll give you ten per cent of the squeeze,” Stark offered.

That had Sam sitting forward with interest. “Is this conceivably as big as the yoghurt deal?”

“ _As_ big?” Stark chuckled, clearly excited. “Congressman Pierce is chairman of the subcommittee on sugar, okay? The von Strucker family cannot allow him to lose. Because their price supports are worth hundreds of _millions_ of dollars. And quite frankly, Mr Wilson, this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Sam hummed in agreement. “Good. Just keep Bucky out of it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Stark said with a shrug, until Sam stood up and held his drill to Stark’s chest. Stark held up his hands. “He’s out. Bucky is out. Bucky _who_?”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two warnings: domestic violence, mild threat, minor animal death, descriptions of a snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need more info on the domestic violence scene, or the snake, please check the notes at the END of this chapter for the full description as warnings, thank you.  
> ~  
> ~

_Backstage at Fury’s_

 

“Look!” Clint held up one of the gossip magazines he was obsessed with. “Tom Cruise’s house.” He sighed wistfully. “I wish he’d come in here some time. I’m sure he’d have the hots for me.”

“Yeah, you’d turn his whole life around,” Pietro said with sarcasm, doing his hair in the mirror.

Bucky was sitting at the dresser with his cell phone. There’d been no answer, so he began to leave a message, “Hey, Mr Karpov, it’s Bucky. I tried calling before, but, uh…”

A dancer in a thong walked by, passing a business card to Bucky. “Someone’s waiting for you, man.”

Bucky was feeling a little overwhelmed, and fumbled leaving his voice message. “Maybe you’re out of town... I’m just calling to see about that legal matter we discussed. If you get a chance, just give me a call at the club. Thanks, bye.”

Reading the business card he’d been given, Bucky felt a little flustered. _Detective_   _Lieutenant_ _Rogers_. What did the cops want with him? Was it something to do with Brock?

He left the dressing room, not bothering to put any extra clothes on, and went into the club to find whoever this lieutenant was.

Sam pointed him to one of the back tables where a guy was waiting on his own.

Bucky hurried over, then stumbled a little when the guy looked up and…

Holy shit, this guy was never a cop. He was _gorgeous_. Big and blond, clean shaven, perfect jawline, handsome face, and dressed in a smart suit.

 _Not_ what Bucky had expected.

Still, the underlying worry drowned out everything else, so he gathered his nerve and went over to the table. “Hi, I’m James Barnes. You wanted to see me?”

~

~

“Lieutenant Rogers with homicide,” Sam informed his boss.

Fury eyed the man in question –a stacked blond in a suit-- sitting over at one of their private tables with Bucky. “Yeah? What’s he want with Barnes?”

Sam shrugged. “Got no idea.”

Fury shook his head. “All I need is a scandal.” He sighed, defeated. Looking to Sam, he said, “So… What do you know about Prozac?”

Sam shrugged again. “It makes you happy. There’s side effects.”

“Like what?”

“Limp noodle,” Sam said flatly.

Fury snorted. “Who cares? I haven’t had a hard-on since I started running this place.”

Sam’s eyebrows climbed steadily higher as he stared back. “The fuck you telling me that for, man?”

Now it was Fury’s turn to shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna go next door. See what Lehnsherr’s up to.”

~

~

“ _Drowned_?” The brunet --Barnes-- stared at the photo of Karpov’s dead face. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, watching his reaction. “Also, he had pictures of you all over his apartment.”

“Um… Mr Karpov was a real big fan,” he said with a shrug. “He brought me flowers.”

Steve had to ask, “He was just a fan? There was no relationship?”

Barnes glared at him, and shoved the photo back into Steve’s hand. “This has been a real pleasure,” he said hotly, getting to his feet.

“Wait,” Steve tried to say.

“I dance, so I must turn tricks, is that what you mean?” he accused. “Nice way to open a conversation.”

Steve stood too, and tried to reason with him. “You don’t exactly work in a library,” he pointed out, feeling awkward. Here the guy was, dressed only in booty shorts and a small crop top, brown hair loose to his shoulders, looking absolutely stunning and hot as hell, and maybe it was messing with Steve’s brain a bit.

“This may not be a library,” he replied, “but I am a dancer, and that's it. There’s been absolutely zero relationship with Mr Karpov, or anybody else for the matter.” A blush tinted his cheeks, which Steve picked up even in the club lighting.

He must have really upset the guy.

Steve took a breath, and tried again. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to figure out the man’s life. He was a customer here. That’s all I know about him. Look, I apologize. Sincerely. I’m real…” He spread his hands. “I’m nowhere on this. Please, give me a minute?”

Barnes stared at him in silence, but he wasn’t walking away.

“Please, Mr Barnes?” Steve asked.

He rolled his eyes. Bright blue, smudged with eyeliner. Not that Steve had noticed.

“Bucky.”

Steve blinked at him. “What's that?”

“Just call me Bucky.” He sat down again. “So, where did this happen?”

Steve sat too. “Lake Okeechobee,” he said. “It’s where I made the serious mistake of taking my vacation.”

Bucky glanced at him. “Family?”

“Not really.” Steve smiled. “I’m single, married to my job. I took a well-earned break to catch up with friends. It’s not the kind of place you’d expect to encounter a homicide.”

Bucky stared at him. “Homicide? You said he drowned.”

“No, we did an autopsy. The water in his lungs came up clean.”

“There was tap water in his lungs?”

Steve watched Bucky carefully. “Yes.”

“Somebody killed him, like, in a bathtub, then dumped the body in a lake?”

Steve smiled wryly. “You read mysteries?”

“Well,” Bucky smiled back, a little ruefully, “up until three months ago, I worked at the FBI in Miami. A secretary. Until I got fired for having a defective husband.” He drew in a big sigh. “I’m in a pretty bad custody fight. Mr Karpov said he was going to help me.”

Steve noticed the change in Bucky as soon as he mentioned this; shoulders slumping, like the fight was draining out of him.

“Can we go outside a minute?” Bucky asked. “I need some air.”

~

~

“Well, if it isn’t Nick Fury,” Erik Lehnsherr greeted with false cheer. “What a wonderful surprise. Nice for you to be in a quality club for a change, eh?”

Fury glanced toward the stage, where the male dancer was writhing about with a snake. “Yeah, if you like freak shows.”

“Lehnsherr!” A voice called. “Get over here!”

“Excuse me, Fury,” Erik said with a grin, “but that’s Mr Batroc... of the von Strucker family. You will have heard of them. Typical of the kind of rich big shots we get here.”

 

Over at Batroc’s table, a drunk Mr Pierce was frowning at the dancers on display. “Is this the place where I met my angel?”

“I don’t know which angel you’re referring to, sir,” Sitwell replied, wishing he’d never entered politics.

~

~

Outside in the cooling night air, cars whizzed by on the strip. One slowed down so its occupants could call out the windows and wolf-whistle as they passed by the club.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky ignored them, and folded his arms. He told Lieutenant Rogers everything he knew about Mr Karpov and his crazy plan.

“A congressman?” the young lieutenant repeated. “You mean a U.S. congressman?”

“Well, he wasn’t specific who it was,” Bucky said leaning against the wall. “I told him it was nuts, and maybe it was better that he stayed out of it.”

The lieutenant nodded, thinking things through. “On Wednesday, there was an incident here, a guy with a bottle…?”

Bucky nodded. “He was a total whack job. Drunk out of his mind.”

“Can you remember, was Mr Karpov here?”

“No, not offhand,” Bucky answered honestly. “But maybe?”

“Think about that and let me know.” He handed Bucky his card. “Here’s all my numbers.” He paused, about to leave, then added, “Once again, I apologize. I mean, for any aspersions.”

Bucky smiled at him, slipping the cop's card into his shorts. “You wanna make it up to me?”

The lieutenant blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“I need a favor,” Bucky said. “You’ve got friends on the vice squad, right?”

This prompted a smile. “Vice squad aren’t exactly my bosom buddies.”

“My ex-husband’s an informant,” Bucky explained. “It’s why this idiot judge gave him custody of _my_ kid.”

“Are you joking?”

“I wish. But I was thinking, if vice dumped him as an informer, when my appeal came up in six weeks I could then say, my ex-husband is unfit, and he’s such a criminal...”

“Wait a minute,” the lieutenant said. “He’s a criminal? Your ex?”

Bucky shifted awkwardly, and sighed. “He steals wheelchairs. Thank you very much.”

“All right, let me see what I can do. Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, when Bucky said, “You know, not having her around... it’s like my heart is missing.”

The blond looked back at him. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. “Take care, Mr Barnes.”

“Bucky. Just call me Bucky.”

He nodded. “Goodnight, Bucky.”          

~

~

After another wild night of partying, Pierce reclined in the back of a limo with his buddy, Georges Batroc. They’d been to dozens of strip joints last night, but none of them had the stripper who’d caught Pierce’s eye before.

And he was sulking about it.

Sleepily, Pierce gazed out of the window.

They’d long since left the strip, driving out on the highway toward the South Bay area, past the sugar fields owned by the von Strucker family.

Even at dawn, workers were already in the fields, picking through the tall crops of sugar cane and cutting them down.

“How much do you pay them?” Pierce questioned, as the sleek limo glided past.

“I think they’re up to thirty dollars a day,” Batroc said with a shrug. “Subtract room and board, booze and smokes… You know, who knows? Maybe they pay us!”

“Hell of a business,” Pierce mused.

“It’s the best! And we gotta protect it, my friend, right?”

Pierce threw him a look. “Son, I’ve been protecting the von Strucker family for over twenty years.”

“And you’re the greatest, man!” Batroc agreed. “All I’m saying is, until the election, no more strip clubs, huh? Bring your wife down here for a weekend. What’s her name? Alice?”

Pierce wrinkled his nose. “Batroc, I met an angel. I mean, he’s a dancer. He’s so pure and clean. Not like the rest of these whores.” Pierced sighed wistfully. “If I could be with him...”

“What?” Batroc asked. “You’d be a good boy?”

“I’d be perfect,” Pierce swore. “I swear, I would! I’d stop going to clubs. I’d stop drinking. I would just lead a regular life, you know? With my wife, and a steady piece on the side. And I would have a decent life.”

“So, let’s do it! Where’d you see him?”

Pierce slumped against the window, too drunk to remember anything important. “My brain has turned to shit.”

“That’s why you’re in Congress!” Batroc laughed.

~

~

_Pompano Beach Highlands, Broward County_

 

It was another bright, sunny morning outside.

Bucky lived in a modest yet modern apartment; his first time living alone since the divorce.

He’d just gotten out of his shower and was towelling off. The radio was on, tuned in to a pop station, and Bucky felt… not bad, actually. Kind of hopeful and excited, and…

And it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with meeting that cute cop last night.

Well, almost nothing. If the guy came through, it would really help to have someone like that on Bucky’s side to get Natasha back.

The fact that he was hot was just a bonus.

Bucky grinned to himself, pulling on a pair of briefs and reaching for his hairbrush. The radio started playing a perky tune, and Bucky couldn’t help it, he swayed along to the beat. This was the first time he’d actually felt like dancing in a long while.

Throwing his towel to the side, Bucky danced around with his hairbrush, singing into it like a mic. “Shake it off! Shake it off!” He grabbed his hairdryer and blasted his hair, posing in the mirror like he was in a music video with a wind machine.

With all the noise, he almost missed the knock at the door. He turned his music down and called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s Lieutenant Rogers. Is this a bad time?”

Bucky’s heart skipped. “Er, no! Just a second. I was um, rehearsing.”

Well, of course _now_ that cute lieutenant would show up, just when Bucky was dancing around the apartment in his underwear.

Thank God he’d thought to close the blinds. If there was one person Bucky wanted to leave a good and _clothed_ impression on, it was Lieutenant Rogers.

He quickly threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Then debated about finding slightly more… formal clothes.

Bucky regretted that the first time Lieutenant Rogers had met him, he’d been in his strip club clothes –if you could call them clothes-- and now he was caught off guard in his lounge clothes and wet, stringy hair fresh from the shower.

He hesitated a moment longer, before sighing in defeat.

What did it matter anyway? Someone like that would never be interested in a stripper and soon-to-be single parent, with a criminal ex-husband to boot.

Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

Bucky hurried to open the door, and he couldn’t help the smile at seeing Lieutenant Rogers. “Morning,” he greeted.

Lieutenant Rogers smiled in return. “Morning. I was nearby. I probably should’ve called…”

“No, no, it’s fine. Please, come on in.” Bucky stood aside and held the door.

“Thank you.”

Bucky shut the door after him, then led the way into the lounge. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”

“No, thanks.”

Bucky poured himself a glass of water, mostly for something to do. He wondered what the lieutenant was here for. “So, do you know anything new?”

“Actually, I have some good news,” Lieutenant Rogers said, “and I have some mediocre news. The good news is Mr Brock Rumlow lost his informant status as of nine AM this morning.”

“Really?” Bucky nearly dropped his glass in surprise.

“Vice thought his information was bogus anyway,” Lieutenant Rogers explained.

It was the best thing Bucky had ever heard. “This is great!” he exclaimed. “Now in six weeks, I can go to the judge--”

“That’s the mediocre part,” Lieutenant Rogers said. “Judge Schmidt had a heart attack yesterday at a porno theater over on Ocean Drive.”

“Don’t tell me…” Bucky winced.

“He was D.O.A. at Don Shula Hospital. Anyway, I called around, and it’ll be six months before your appeal’s heard.”

“Six _months?_ ” Bucky slumped against the counter top. “No…”

“The system is all backed up,” Lieutenant Rogers said, apology clear in his voice.

“Dammit.” Bucky rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t allow her to stay with that jerk for another six months!”

“There’s nothing you can do from a legal standpoint,” the lieutenant said gently. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bucky sighed. Then he sat up straighter. “Is today Friday?”

“Yeah, it’s Friday.”

“I gotta run.” Bucky got up and raced to find his keys. “I’ll, um, I’ll talk to you later, Lieutenant.”

If he hurried, he might just be in time.

~

~

_Palm Springs, Palm Beach County_

 

During a campaign lunch at one of the more wealthy retirement homes, Alexander Pierce made the rounds of tables, smiling and shaking hands with hundreds of potential voters.

“You’re wonderful, Mr Pierce!” a fan told him; another middle aged white woman.

Pierce had done his duty for today, and now he needed a break.

The last of the schmoozing was done, and he broke away from the crowds and went in search of the drinks table.

“Congressman!” A man in a suit greeted him. “Howard Stark.”

They shook hands, Pierce thinking he was just another voter.

“Congressman, I brought a little souvenir for you.” Stark opened a manila folder to reveal a photograph.

Pierce stared at it, at what looked like himself in a strip club, about to hit a bottle over the head of another man.

“Obviously, the ramifications of that, if it were to become public...” Stark was saying.

“Is this me?” Pierce stared at the photo.

Stark chuckled. “Yes, I’m afraid so. If this became public, it would be devastating... and I’d like to avoid that.”

Pierce didn't listen to Stark, as he’d finally noticed the stripper in the photo. Recognition set him alight, and Pierce gripped the photo with determination.

“It’s him. It’s my angel.”

~

~

Bucky hid behind the line of trees, waiting until Sinthea went to walk her dogs –Alberto was out at work—then he snuck into the trailer, found his daughter sitting quietly by herself, and scooped her up into his arms.

He held Natasha as she clung to him, beyond relieved to have found her. Bucky grabbed her bag, then stole her away and into his beat-up old Volvo.

He drove fast down West Broward Boulevard, back to Pompano Beach.

Natasha asked, “Are we going to your house, Daddy?”

“No, Pumpkin, we’re going to _our_ house.”

“For the whole day?”

“Even longer.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You snatched me, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

Bucky smiled for her, and tried to blink back the tears. “I guess I did.”

Natasha looked pleased, the spark finally coming back into her eyes. “You sure did.”

~

~

A parked car sat across the street from the stripper's apartment, its occupants watching as the brunet and a redheaded kid traipsed up the steps together.

“I didn’t know he had a child,” Pierce muttered indignantly, staring through a miniature pair of binoculars for a closer look.

The brunet was in shorts. Pierce licked his lips.

“He’s divorced,” Sitwell said, “but his husband should have custody.”

“He’s carrying numerous bags. That doesn’t look like just a visitation, does it, Sitwell?”

“I’ll look into it.” Sitwell made a note into his phone to check the custody status.

“What an extraordinary creature…” Pierce was leering, breathing a little heavier. “How perfect in every detail.”

Sitwell cautioned, “Alex, you promised you’d behave until after the election.”

“You don’t understand,” Pierce said. “This is _love_.”

Sitwell face-palmed.

“I won’t campaign,” Pierce declared, “until I have him.”

~

~

_Von Strucker yacht, Miami Beach_

 

“This is quite a picture,” Baron von Strucker said, looking at the shot of Pierce bottling some guy at a nightclub, next to a male stripper.

“It is fatal,” Zola said.

Von Strucker tossed the photo aside. “I do not accede to blackmail.”

“Baron von Strucker, I agree with you in principle,” Zola placated. “But if this gets out, we are in a shit-storm.”

“Sir, pay the guy off,” Batroc said.

“You got a cancer, you talk nice to it?” The Baron frowned. “No. You cut it out.”

“We can’t keep operating like we’re in the funeral business,” Zola said.

“I’d rather buy cops than pay blackmail. Understood?”

“I just think we should consider other options,” Zola tried.

“ _Understood_?” von Strucker repeated.

Zola reluctantly had to agree. Looked like they’d be bumping someone else off pretty soon then.

Von Strucker poured himself another glass of wine, and went to stand by the boat’s rail. “What else?” he demanded, when Zola joined him.

“A connected matter. Pierce wants this stripper, and I’d like to use the boat. That way, we can control the situation.”

“This is the same man from the picture?”

“That is correct.”

“What does he know?”

“Well, we will find out,” Zola said. “The good news is that he has obtained custody of his daughter illegally, so he’s vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable isn’t good enough,” von Strucker said. “Let Pierce have his fun with the whore, then lose him.”

Zola tried, “First, let’s determine whether he can hurt us or not. I am sure he is just another dumb stripper.”

Von Strucker fixed him with a look. “For his sake, I hope so.”

~

~

“You go back three,” Natasha explained, pointing to the board and helping Clint move his piece.

Clint frowned at the game in front of him, unsure how he was losing to a seven year old. “This is complicated,” he griped.

“It’s easy,” Natasha insisted.

“All right, is it your turn?” Clint handed the dice to Pietro.

While he was distracted, Natasha tried to get up –she clearly wanted to go find her daddy-- but Thor noticed. “Uh-uh, you stay here with us, young lady. Father’s orders.”

Fury stomped into the dressing room. “Everybody, listen up. This is Viper.” He introduced a new dancer; slim, blond, and wearing clothes almost exclusively in snakeskin material. “Formerly of The XXX-Men Club,” Fury said. “He and his snake, Monty Python, have signed an exclusive contract with us.”

“You’ve got a _snake_?” Pietro exclaimed.

“Monty,” the dancer chuckled.

“And they start tomorrow,” Fury said. “So make him feel at home, and give ‘em a real Fury’s welcome!”

“Hey, man!” Clint called out, getting up to shake hands. “They call me Hawkeye.”

Thor got up too, not wanting to miss out. “And I am The God of Thunder. Hello.”

“How big is your snake?” Clint asked.

“Oh, it’s big.”

“Just what we needed, another blond,” Pietro muttered, and reluctantly went over to join in the greetings.

 

Fury was on his way out of the dressing room when he saw Sam carrying a suspiciously long package wrapped in newspaper.

Sam gave him a look, and Fury hurried over to speak with him quietly.

“The hell is that?” he hissed.

“It just came from Lehnsherr’s,” Sam said, holding up the package. “Monty's sleeping with the fishes.”

Fury’s one eye widened in surprise. “Shit. Viper has no idea, right?”

“No, it just got here.” Sam shifted the package awkwardly. “It’s fresh.”

Digging out his wallet, Fury thrust a bundle of notes at him. “Go rustle up a new snake.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Where? The A&P? Who the fuck carries pythons at ten at night?”

“There’s an all-night snake farm on route twenty-seven,” Fury said. “Ask for Jungle Juan.”

Sam was still looking at him funny.

“And get rid of _that_.” Fury gestured at the dead snake. “God, I hate this business. You know why? It’s lost its humanity.”

~

~

In the commotion of the new dancer arriving, the other dancers were distracted so Natasha was able to slip away unnoticed.

She knew where the stage door was; just an entryway with a sparkly curtain covering it. She approached it gingerly, the noise filtering through making her cautious.

She just wanted to see. She knew this was a place full of dancers, and that her daddy was one of them. She really wanted to see what they were doing onstage, if they were as graceful and elegant as the ballet dancers she’d seen on TV and loved.

Peering through the curtain, she blinked into the gloom, eyes drawn to the stage where the bright lights were focussed.

Her daddy was dancing. Natasha’s heart leapt. That was her daddy, her daddy was dancing and she could watch him.

Except… it wasn’t what she’d expected.

Bucky had gone out with that glittery black feather boa wrapped around him –Natasha had loved it—but now he was onstage and dancing, he was slowly peeling it away, draping it down to tickle the faces of the audience leaning in, and revealing that he only wore black short-shorts.

Some men tried to grab for Bucky, and he manoeuvred around their outstretched hands, dancing just out of reach. He threw the boa aside and dropped down into a crouch in front of someone else. The customer was reaching forward, tucking something into Bucky’s shorts, and Bucky let him before he rolled onto his belly, raising his bottom up to wiggle in time with the music.

When more customers tossed bills onto the stage, or held them up to get Bucky’s attention, Natasha realised it was money. It was confusing to her, because she thought that the scary man with the eyepatch owned the club and paid the dancers, but all the money seemed to be out there onstage with her daddy, being shoved into his underwear.

Natasha left the curtain, and quickly crept back to her spot in the dressing room without the others noticing.

~

~            

It was getting late, and the snake hadn’t been delivered yet. The new dancer was getting impatient.

“Where’s Monty?” he asked Fury. “Monty isn’t here yet.”

“He’s on his way. Relax,” Fury said, then he beat a hasty retreat.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure what was up with this snake business, but he’d finished his shift now and he just wanted to get him and Natasha home to bed.

She was already asleep, curled up with a feather boa in a chair.

Thor was out onstage, while Clint and Pietro had already gone home. Bucky approached the new dancer. “Hey, buddy? Do me a favor and watch Nat for a minute? I’m gonna get my car and bring it round, it’s pouring out.”

“Oh, sure thing, gorgeous.”

Bucky thanked him, then grabbed his umbrella. He was only wearing a thin tank top and his beach shorts, but he didn’t want his hair to get wet this late at night.

On his way out, he saw Sam about to enter the dressing room. “Hey, Sam. Where you been all night?”

“Doing my Christmas shopping early.” Sam gestured to the large box he was carrying; the box with air holes.

Bucky carefully peered inside one of the holes. “If that’s not a snake, then it’s an amazing belt.”

“I gotta find a new line of work. This shit is getting out of hand.” Sam smiled wryly. “Let me put this down, and I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Bucky exited the club, putting his umbrella up against the heavy rain. His legs got soaking wet –he was only wearing flip flops-- but that was okay as long as his hair stayed dry.

He unlocked his car and got in, stashing his umbrella aside and reached for his keys.

Suddenly a large pair of hands snapped around his throat, one pressing a knife to his skin.

“Shit!” Bucky gasped in surprise, mentally kicking himself for _not_ checking the backseat.

“Evening, baby,” Brock breathed into his ear. The scent of alcohol was on his breath. “Where’s my little ‘un?”

“Where you can’t get her,” Bucky answered calmly. He stayed still, hyper aware of the knife Brock held against his throat.

“Is that ever the wrong answer,” Brock said. “Bring her to me, now!”

“No, Brock.”

“I’ll go to that judge and tell him my whore of an ex abducted--”

“Guess what, Brock? The judge is dead.”

Bucky felt the hesitation in Brock, and knew that bit of information had delivered a crucial blow to the man’s confidence.

“Looks like you’ll just have to kill me instead,” Bucky said calmly.

Brock breathed heavily, but he didn’t move.

“Go on, then,” Bucky said, “I don’t have all night.”

“Think I’m afraid to?” Brock huffed at him. “Think I’m not man enough to take your life?”

Bucky resisted rolling his eyes. This was nothing more than echoes of age old arguments between them; Brock and his toxic ideas of masculinity. Deep down, he was just a scared little boy.

And Bucky knew just how to keep him talking.

“No, Brock, I think you’re all man,” Bucky told him. “That death row, lethal injection thing? That’s not gonna scare you. Nuh-uh.”

A silent moment ticked by as Brock thought that over. His hold on Bucky’s neck loosened a little. “Well, they… They’d never execute a daddy,” he muttered, thinking it through.

The driver door was yanked open. “Drop the knife,” Sam commanded. “You got till three. One.”

“Suck my dick,” Brock sneered at him.

“Whip the lil’ fella out. Two.”

“This here’s a domestic squabble!” Brock used the knife to point at Sam, and Sam took that opportunity to twist Brock’s arm up and away from Bucky, crunching bones in the process if Brock’s pained scream was anything to go by.

Bucky sat perfectly still, watching as Sam said, “Three,” then opened the back door to get at Brock.

“You broke my arm!” Brock wailed.

“You sure?” Sam grabbed him and pulled him out of the car, throwing him bodily onto the wet concrete.

Brock landed in a large puddle with a splash and, before he could get up, Sam placed a booted foot on his injured hand, grinding it into the ground. Brock yelled in pain.

Bucky put up his umbrella again, gingerly hurried past the both of them, then ran for the club.

“Bucky Barnes!” Brock shouted after him, “I’m gonna get you!”

 

Safely back inside the dressing room, Bucky threw aside his umbrella and looked for his cell phone.

Viper looked up from where he was peering into a box. “Are you okay, hon?”

“Just had a tiff with my ex,” Bucky explained, a little breathless. He glanced over at Natasha, still sleeping peacefully.

“Oh, I know what that’s like,” Viper agreed. “Hey, did you see? Monty finally got here!”

“That’s great…” Bucky found his phone, and dialled the number. When they picked up, he asked for Lieutenant Rogers.

~

~

“He’s a kidnapper! He’s a fucking whore!” Brock Rumlow was screaming blue murder as he was herded into the back of a police car.

“Watch your head there,” the officer accidentally-on-purpose knocked Brock’s forehead against the car before shoving him inside.

Lieutenant Rogers watched the scene in the parking lot, making sure the guy got taken away, before he headed back inside the club.

This wasn’t Steve’s first time inside a strip club, nor even his first time backstage in one –being a homicide detective led him everywhere-- but this _was_ the first time he was crushing on a stripper.

Or, crushing on anyone in general, really. It'd been a long time since anyone had caught his eye.

And now he had to tell Mr Barnes… _Bucky_ … the bad news.

Steve sat down in a chair opposite him, overlooking the costume and underwear pieces strewn around the room. He also tried to overlook how gorgeous Bucky was, even in casual clothes. Steve remained professional.

“The fact is,” Steve explained, “he _threatened_ , and he did not attempt.”

They’d already checked with Bucky, and he was unharmed.

Bucky sat with his arms crossed, and looked seriously unimpressed with this piece of news. “Right,” he drawled. “And what’s the deal if he kills me? Can I press charges then?”

Steve looked at the floor. This was the part of the job that sucked; letting down the people who really needed help. “The law is the law,” he said. “I’ll screw around with the paperwork all I can. But if he makes bail, she’s his.” He glanced toward the sleeping child in another chair.

She had red hair, but as far as he understood, Bucky was the biological father.

Steve mused that this kid was probably a bit younger than Sharon. And the fact that they’d never know each other made him feel kinda sad.

“I should split.” Bucky said quietly. “Take her to New England or something.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve said. “If you split without formal custody, you’ll lose her forever. I’ve dealt with Family Services. They are pencil pushers. This has to be by the book.”

“But I’m dealing with a maniac here,” Bucky said.

Steve sighed deeply. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But I repeat, you can’t take off.”

Bucky bit his lip, clearly thinking things through.

He looked real cute when he bit his lip like that. Not that Steve was noticing…

He cleared his throat. “You might have a bigger problem.”

Bucky looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I can’t have a bigger problem right now.”

Steve opened an envelope and handed Bucky a set of photographs. “Look at these. Any of these clowns the one who might have assaulted that guy in the club?”

He watched as Bucky flicked through the photos, then held up one to show. “This clown.”

Steve winced inwardly. “You’re positive?”

“Absolutely.” Bucky looked at the photo again. “You know who he is?”

Sitting back in his seat, Steve told him. “That’s Congressman Pierce.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “This nut is a congressman?”

“You haven’t heard from him? From any of his staff?”

“Wait…” Bucky stared at the photo. “This is who Karpov was talking about.”

Steve nodded.

“Are you saying I am in danger from a _congressman_?”

“No,” Steve said, wishing he was half as sure as he sounded. “Let me know if you hear from him though. I think that’s in both our interests.”

“Jeez,” Bucky muttered. “How’d I get so popular?”

~

~

_Doral, Miami-Dade County_

 

When Steve got home later that night, he had some surprise visitors.

Or, not that much of a surprise; Peggy had called ahead and told Steve they were coming.

“We’re going to finish our vacation with you one way or another,” Peggy had said, marching into his home with their bags.

“Yeah, enjoy us while you got us, Rogers,” Angie chimed in, helping little Sharon to the guest room.

“Make yourselves at home,” Steve said with a smile. It was nice not to be alone, for once.

As the ladies got themselves settled in, Steve loosened his tie and grabbed himself a beer.

Today had just been one of those days.

By the time Peggy and Angie came to find him, Steve had sank into his couch and was finishing his beer.

“Uh oh,” Angie commented, as Peggy raised her eyebrows at Steve in question. “Long day at the office, Rogers?”

He chuckled, not divulging that he’d just come from a strip club. “Nah, it’s not that.”

Peggy sat next to him, as Angie went to get more beers. “What is it?”

Steve gratefully accepted a new beer from Angie, and they all settled in on his couch. “Just… I feel like I let someone down, that’s all.” He frowned at his beer bottle.

“Someone you work with?” Angie asked.

“No, this guy’s a…” Steve paused, unsure what to say. “Well, he’s connected to a case. Single father. The kid’s about Sharon’s age.”

“And?” Peggy guessed there was more.

“And…” Steve said with a small smile. “He’s real nice. Cute, too. Pretty hot, actually.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “And so far all I’ve done is insult his career choice, let him down with bad news, and then give him more shit to worry about.”

Peggy studied him for a moment, then looked to Angie, who nodded.

“Well,” Peggy began, “if that’s _all_ you’ve done so far, maybe you should think about offering him something _good_ next?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”

Peggy looked to Angie, smiling. “The list, Angie?”

“List?” Steve repeated.

“We made a shortlist,” Angie beamed, presenting Steve with a notebook, “all the places we could take Sharon to while we’re here in Florida.”

Steve nodded, reading the list. “What, you want recommendations, or…?”

“No,” Peggy smiled, “we think you should come with us. Bring your friend and his daughter.”

“Oh.” Steve tried to cover his surprise, and scrutinized the list further. “Well, ah… I--”

“Didn’t you want to offer him something nice?” Angie said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Steve had to chuckle. “Fine, fine. I’ll ask him, okay?”

“Good,” Peggy declared. “Make it tomorrow, and lunch is on me.”

~

~

“Hush, little baby Don’t you cry,” Bucky sang softly, hoping Natasha was still asleep. “Daddy’s gonna buy you a… um…” He fumbled with his keys to get the door open.

“Pumpkin pie,” Natasha finished the song.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he said, letting them into the apartment. “Can Daddy put you down?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

In the entryway a letter was waiting on the matt. It must have been hand delivered, and Bucky got a bad feeling just looking at it.

He put Natasha into her bedroom and turned on her night light. “Brush your teeth,” he told her, heading back out to the hall.

“I’m too tired,” she called.

“Nat, brush your teeth. Then go on into bed.” Bucky waited until she was tucked in before he opened the letter.

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

_Mr Pierce requests the pleasure of your company for a private dance. You’ll receive two thousand dollars cash for a one hour set. Discretion and confidentiality are of the utmost importance._

~

 

When Bucky peeped in to check on Natasha, she turned over to get his attention. “Daddy, do you like dancing?”

“What are you still doing awake, huh?” Bucky carefully sat on the edge of her bed and smiled at his daughter.

“I was just thinking. Do you like dancing?”

That bad feeling was back. He tried to smile through it. “Not really.”

“It’s not fun?” she asked.

Bucky had thought about sugar coating this, he really had. But he didn’t want Natasha to grow up thinking this was his ideal job. “No,” he said honestly, “it’s not fun.”

“You’re just dancing?” Natasha didn’t seem to understand. Before the divorce, Bucky had taken her to ballet classes, and she’d enjoyed those.

“Dancing’s fun, honey. Sure, that part of the job,” he tried to explain.

“What’s not fun? The customers?” Natasha asked. “Clint said some of them are mean and stupid.”

Oh, boy.

Bucky was so not prepared for this conversation. Where had all this come from?

“Pumpkin, have you ever seen me dance?”

Natasha fiddled with her dolly, before answering, “I looked through the curtain tonight.”

“While I was dancing?”

She nodded. “You looked nice.”

Bucky sighed with disappointment, mostly at himself. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did,” Natasha reassured him, sitting up to give him a hug. “You looked great.”

Bucky didn’t believe he deserved that much, but he said, “Thank you, baby,” and hugged her back.

~

~

_Museum of Discovery and Science, Fort Lauderdale_

 

The museum entrance was dominated by a colorful structure towering above them, with a giant clockface and numerous winding chutes with colored balls whizzing past.

Natasha loved it, and Bucky hadn’t seen a grin on her face that big in a long while.

Having Sharon there helped too. The little girls bounced their way through the entrance, the adults chuckling at their eagerness.

Peggy and Angie hadn’t been in the museum before, and were debating the best route to take the kids. Bucky was just happy to be along for the ride. Angie especially was wonderful, guiding Sharon and Natasha with ease, engaging them about the displays and topics. Peggy followed behind her wife, watching with a smile and chiming in with fun science facts.

Lieutenant Rogers had mentioned she was some sort of forensic investigator, which Bucky could totally see now that he’d met her.

Bucky was almost a little overwhelmed; he hadn’t been around any other decent parents in what seemed like forever. He’d been worried Natasha would be too shy for a trip like this today, but was pleased she was taking to it, and taking to Sharon, despite the couple years age difference.

Sharon found a particular display when they reached the sea life exhibit; it was a small tunnel with seats inside, just the right size for kids.

“Oh, I’ve seen these before!” Sharon exclaimed, bouncing toward it. “You sit inside, and the ceiling lights up with fish and stuff, and you have to guess what they are!”

She wanted Natasha to go inside with her, but Natasha hesitated.

“Ask nicely, hon,” Angie reminded her daughter.

“Natasha, would you like to sit in the fish tunnel?” Sharon asked politely.

Natasha looked to Bucky, as if asking permission.

“It’s okay,” Bucky assured her. “You can go. It’s all right, Nat.”

Natasha took a step toward Sharon, but glanced back one more time.

“I’ll be right here, baby,” Bucky told her, watching as Natasha finally went inside the tunnel with Sharon. Angie crouched down at the entrance to join in, while Peggy was reading from her guidebook to engage the girls with questions about what they saw.

Bucky waited nervously; he could still see Natasha, which helped, but Lieutenant Rogers must’ve noticed.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly.

Bucky nodded. “I try not to, but she’s spent so little time with other kids. As far as I know, she hasn’t seen any of her friends all summer.”

“It’ll change. Once she’s with you full time.”

“I hope so.” Bucky watched Natasha, watched her smile, and despite his anxiety about last night, something inside him settled at seeing his daughter happy.

“Um, Lieutenant Rogers--”

“Please, call me Steve.”

Bucky looked at him in surprise, but he was busy gazing around at the displays.

“Um, okay.” Bucky nodded. “Steve. I just wanted to say thanks, for today. I never would’ve thought of coming here on my own.”

Steve smiled at him. “Angie and Peggy are great with kids.”

They watched the scene for a few more moments, before Steve cleared his throat and said, “So, let me get this straight. He offered you _two grand_ to dance for one hour?”

“Yup.” Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “I can’t turn it down. Now that I have Nat with me, I’ve gotta find another job immediately. Which will pay me _nothing_ as good as what I’m making now.”

Steve watched him, seemed to guess something was up. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky shook his head. “She saw me dancing. Peeped her small head out while I was onstage last night.”

Steve blinked in surprise. “Was she… upset?”

“She said no, but come on.” Bucky huffed. “One day she’s gonna realize and say, hey, that was my dad.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Steve said.

Bucky hummed, not wanting to dwell on it right now. “Anyway. It’s safe, right?” He looked at Steve. “With Pierce? I’m bringing Sam.”

“I think, as long as they think you don’t know anything, you’ll be fine. Maybe keep your ears open.”

Bucky nodded, going back to watching Natasha play.

“What will you do with her tonight?” Steve asked.

“Clint said that he should be able to watch her at the club.”

“Why don’t you drop her off at my house?”

Bucky looked at him, blinking in confusion. “I… I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Bucky didn't know what to say, and he felt a flush heat his face.

Steve explained hastily, “Peggy and Angie stay with me when they visit. I have spare rooms. They have Sharon, so, Natasha could share with her. It’ll be like a sleep over.”

Bucky gaped at him in amazement. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“Peggy and Angie won’t… mind?”

“Why would they mind?”

“I dunno,” Bucky made a face. “They don’t think I’m like something out of _Days of our_ _Lives_?”

“Bucky, come on, you’re a terrific guy,” Steve insisted. “You know that. So, you made a mistake a lot of people do; you married a moron. What are you gonna do? You gonna beat yourself up about it for the rest of your life?”

Bucky smiled a little. “Well, I usually don’t, but it’s… I mean, it’s just that… You know, she saw me dancing.”

Steve smiled kindly. “It’ll all work out,” he said.

~

~

_Miami beach_

Sam drove them down Ocean Drive and out to the docks, following the directions Bucky had to a boat called _Von_ _Strucker Sugar_. It wasn’t hard to find; a sleek yacht, on a dock all its own.

Sam pulled up and cut the engine, following Bucky up to the boat.

Two guys were waiting for them, and one said, “Mr Barnes?”

Bucky smiled thinly. “That’s right.”

The lackey pointed at Sam “Who is he?”

Without missing a beat, Sam quipped, “Mrs Barnes.”

“Mrs Barnes is not invited,” the other lackey said.

“Yeah, take a hike,” said the first one.

“Oh, no,” Bucky told them. “See, if he goes, I go.”

They shared a look, then the first said, “Raise your hands. I gotta pat you down.”

Sam held up his hands and allowed the pat down. He pretended to giggle. “Oh. Stop.”

Satisfied, the men led the way toward the boat. “Right this way.”

~

~

“Hello, gorgeous,” Pierce said to his own reflection in the mirror, “my name is Congressman Pierce. You are... You’re a beauty.” He waggled his eyebrows, then stared in surprise as the reflection showed he had company.

The stripper was here.

Pierce turned around just as he entered the cabin, dressed in a long black coat and black boots, hair loose to his shoulders.

“Good evening. I’m Bucky Barnes. And you must be...?”

Pierce spluttered a reply before getting his name right. “Um… I, I am Congressman Alexander Pierce. And welcome, welcome.” He walked forward and smacked his shin into the coffee table, grimacing in pain. “Ow. You are truly, truly welcome.”

 

“Thank you.” Bucky tried not to grimace himself as Pierce took his hand and kissed it hungrily. “Have we… met before?” 

“Why, no,” Pierce said slyly, “but I have seen many, many beautiful photographs of you.”

 _Ew_ , Bucky thought.

“Well, I’m honored,” he played along. “And a congressman. Very successful congressman you must be.”

“This is not my boat,” Pierce laughed. “It belongs to a very close friend of mine. But he’s letting me use it. And I do believe you owe me a dance, pretty boy.”

“Sure,” Bucky said with fake enthusiasm. He held up his smartphone with a speaker attachment. “I’ve brought my own music. Do you care for The Artist Formerly Known as Prince?”

Pierce blinked in confusion, then shrugged. “I care for you. Put it on, sugar.”

~

~

“Say, man,” the lackey named Rollins asked, “you get to watch any of the auditions?”

“Watch, my ass,” Sam scoffed. “I do the hiring.”

Which was a blatant lie, but he needed to amuse himself.

“I’ve seen every dancer on the Miami strip.”

Rollins frowned, bewildered. “What’s the criteria? I mean, I get what’s hot on _women_ , because I’m straight.” He cleared his throat. “But how do you pick which guys get hired?”

Sam tried not to smile. He loved fucking with closet cases. “ _Ass_ , man. Ass and thighs are key.”

Rollins and Sitwell listened, rapt.

“Firmness is crucial,” Sam went on. “I gotta check each ass cheek, hold ‘em for a while. Shake ‘em.”

“You shake their asses?” Sitwell said with disbelief.

“It ain’t no picnic, man. Got tendinitis in my right wrist,” Sam deadpanned. “On a rainy day, it’s agony.”

Rollins and Sitwell shared a confused look.

~

~

Bucky told Pierce to sit over on the couch, while he set his phone speaker to play. He took his overcoat off, and got up on the coffee table. As impromptu stages went, it wasn’t all that bad.

As the music poured out of the speaker, Bucky began to dance, unbuttoning his shirt and slowly peeling out of it to reveal his bare chest.

Sitting below, Pierce watched avidly, squirming in his seat. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he pleaded. “A diamond watch. A Lexus.”

Bucky kept dancing.

“I’ll get you a condo on the beach. Just be my boyfriend.”

“Can’t do that,” Bucky told him, rolling his abs.

“Why not?” Pierce pouted. “You don’t know what I’ve done for you recently.”

“Really? And what was that?”

“I talked to the late Judge Schmidt about your daughter.”

Bucky hid his surprise. “You did? And how did you know about my case?”

“Little birdie told me.”

“It must have been a little birdie who knew me _very_ well.”

Pierce cleared his throat. “Uh… Who is not important.”

“Come on now,” Bucky turned around, undulating his hips in slow circles and sticking out his ass. “Not just a little hint?”

“I can’t do that. But I know the new judge,” Pierce said. “He’s a very good friend of mine. The Honorable Chester Phillips. He’ll be more amenable. Darlin’, if you just come into my life…” He reached forward with his hands, grabbing onto Bucky’s leg, “good things will happen.”

Bucky’d had enough of this douchebag. He turned back around and crouched low on the table. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

Pierce grinned in delight, still trying to get his hands on Bucky’s thighs. Bucky pushed the guy’s hands to the table, and held them still.

“Close them,” Bucky ordered, waiting until Pierce obeyed and closed his eyes. “No peeking.”

Bucky moved his boot to stamp hard on Pierce’s fingers, causing the man to yelp.

“Don’t you ever invade my private life again, or I’ll kill you,” he said lowly. “You understand? Show’s over.” He got down off the table and picked up his clothes.

“You’ll come back tomorrow?” Pierce asked hopefully, getting up to follow Bucky. “Same time?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll give you five grand.”

“Five thousand dollars for no sex?” Bucky said dryly, pulling on his coat. “You want  me _that_ much.”

Pierce reached for Bucky’s hand, clasping it in his sweaty palms. “Just the touch of your hand sets my pecker on fire.”

Bucky pulled his hand back. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky felt his resolve waver. “If I come, can we talk more about my case?”

“We can talk about anything,” Pierce promised. “As long as you’re naked.”

“We’ll see.”

Bucky left the cabin quickly and walked back along the boat. Just when he thought he’d escaped, a voice startled him.

“Good evening,” a tiny, older man said, leering at him. “You don’t know me, Mr Barnes. I am Arnim Zola. Pierce’s right hand.”

Bucky smirked at that. “You must be a very busy man.”

Zola nodded. “Touché. I wish to give you some advice about your adorable little daughter, Natasha.”

Bucky stiffened instantly. “What about her?”

“Your custody of her is illegal.”

“That’s just temporary until the appeal gets heard--”

“Please, please, Mr Barnes. Really, it is of no concern to us. As long as you refuse to cooperate with certain individuals who seek to harm and slur Congressman Pierce for their own… _selfish_ political gain.”

Bucky held Zola’s gaze, then said steadily, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Excuse me.” He went to leave.

“Perhaps you don’t,” Zola called after him. “But what a pity if Natasha were to be placed in a state home. Very grim, most of them. A lot of strange people working there. I’d recommend that you cooperate with us for the child’s sake, Mr Barnes. Which means you talk to _no one_ about tonight, or any night.”

He stared hard at Bucky. “Understood?”

Bucky stared coolly back at him. “Of course.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I had better go advise the congressman to take a cold shower.” He added, “By the way, I can see why he’s so taken by your charms. Good night. And watch your step on the gangplank.”

~

~

Sitting safely in Sam’s car, Bucky tried to relax, but his mind was racing.

Driving back along the docks, Sam’s first question was, “Did he try anything?”

Bucky shook his head a little, aiming for neutral. “No.”

“He ask you back?”

“No,” he lied.

Sam huffed. “Aren’t we Mr Talkative tonight.”

“I’m a little tired,” Bucky said, staring out the window.

~

~

Onstage at Fury’s, Viper was in the middle of his dance. Except, Monty the python seemed  _tightly coiled_.

“What’s the matter, Monty?” Viper cooed at his snake, finding it difficult to move. And _breathe_.

“Come on, baby!” a customer called, waving his money impatiently.

Viper nodded, holding out a finger to indicate that they wait; he had a Goddamn snake coiling around his throat.

“Monty…!” he wheezed, trying to push the snake off.

“This reptile’s a freaking lemon,” Fury muttered, watching the scene as his new dancer went down under the python.

“Help!” Viper wheezed out, waving his arms. “Help me!”

~

~

_Doral, Miami-Dade County_

 

“My mommy Peggy works for the NYPD,” Sharon was saying while combing the hair on her doll.

“Is that police?” Natasha asked.

“That’s right,” Sharon said, “New York City police department. Because we live in New York. My other mommy Angie is going to be a famous actress, but we’re on vacation right now.”

Sharon set her doll on a tiny doll chair, with a tiny doll briefcase, and declared, “There. Now officer Barbie is going to inspect the crime scene and look for clues.”

Natasha had been helping get Sharon’s dolls together, watching with interest. She passed over the next doll. “My daddy used to work at the FBI,” Natasha told her.

“Oh, yeah?” Sharon looked interested. “Which of your daddies? My mommy Peggy said you have two daddies. Just like I have two mommies.”

Natasha looked down at the dolls thoughtfully. “Bucky is my real daddy,” she said. “He was married to Brock, but they aren’t together now. Brock is a… salesman, but the FBI didn’t like that so my daddy couldn’t work there anymore. Now he’s a dancer.”

“That’s cool!” Sharon declared, handing Natasha another doll. “What kind of dancing?”

“He goes on the stage, and he does dancing,” Natasha said matter of factly, adjusting the doll’s outfit. “I don’t think he likes it much. He didn’t want me watching.”

“Maybe he can go to work with my mommy?” Sharon suggested.

Watching them from the couch, Angie raised a quizzical brow at their conversation. “Now that _would_ be interesting,” she said to herself.

 

“Guess what?” Angie said, hip-checking her wife in the kitchen.

Peggy smiled at her, then continued making her cup of tea. “I assume from the wicked gleam in your eyes that you know something of interest?”

“Got that right!” Angie leaned in, lowering her voice to say, “Steve’s stripper used to work at the FBI.”

Peggy opened her mouth to tell Angie not to call him that, then said instead, “How did you find this out?”

“Overheard the girls talking.”

“Hm.” Peggy mused, “Sometimes children exaggerate, Ang.”

“Only one way to find out for sure,” Angie said with a grin.

After eating dinner and reading the girls a story book to get them settled down, Peggy and Angie had them neatly tucked up in a guest bed way before Bucky arrived.

“Remember,” Peggy said to Angie, “if you’re wrong, you owe me dinner for a week.”

Angie laughed, then they opened the door to Bucky as he came up the driveway.

“Oh. Hey,” he greeted shyly. “Is everything…?”

“Perfect,” Angie assured him.

“Good as gold,” Peggy confirmed, stepping aside to usher Bucky in. “Can we offer you a drink, or a late night snack? The girls have had their dinner, of course.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Bucky smiled, pulling his coat tighter around himself, even though it was a warm night. “I’m okay though, thanks. I’m kinda beat.”

“I’m sure you are,” Peggy said smoothly. “Dancing must wear you out.”

“Uh…” Bucky blinked at her, floundering. “You could say that.”

Angie couldn’t keep quiet any longer, and blurted out, “Hey, your girl Natasha said before this you worked at the FBI. How about that?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled wanly, “that would be correct.”

“The girls had been playing _CSI_ with Sharon’s dolls,” Peggy explained, “she has a bit of a police theme going on.”

“Yeah, _CSI_ is her favorite show,” Angie said.

“Sharon’s a great kid,” Bucky told them, but he was shifting awkwardly. “Thank you for watching Nat, but I’d better take her home now.”

“She wasn’t any trouble,” Angie said, taking pity on him. “I’ll go see if she’s ready to head out.”

Left on their own for a moment, Peggy said to him, “I’m sure once this is over, you can reapply for your job with the FBI. If that was something you wanted.”

Bucky smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

~

~

When Bucky had gone to Steve’s house to pick up Natasha, he was kinda relieved that Steve wasn’t home yet. After the third degree from Steve’s friends, he bundled a sleepy Natasha into his car, and hoped he’d avoided Steve altogether.

Except, just as he was pulling out of the driveway, Steve pulled in with his car. He came to a stop, leaning out his open window to talk to Bucky, so Bucky rolled his down too.

“So, how did it go?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded. “Fine.”

“No problems?”

“No,” Bucky lied, and hated himself for it, “none.”

Steve watched him carefully. “But no information?”

“Zero.” Bucky avoided eye contact.

It was bad enough he’d already lied to Sam tonight, now he was lying to Steve too.

“Look, I… I gotta run, you know. Natasha’s wiped. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Then he peeled out of the drive before Steve could ask him any more questions.            

~

~

“Come on, come on!” Fury urged, watching Sam carefully pry the snake off the dancer. The customers watched avidly, cheering Sam on.

“Nick, do something!” Clint tugged on Fury’s sleeve, watching in horror.

“I am doing something,” Fury retorted, “I’m protecting you. Stand back.”

“Oh, God,” Pietro said, as they all stood and watched.

Sam finally managed to unwrap the snake from the dancer’s throat.

“That’s not Monty!” Viper wailed, pointing accusingly at the snake.

~

~

Later that night, Steve strode through Fury’s strip club and, when he couldn’t see the guy he wanted, he wandered backstage in search of him.

Bucky wasn’t working, Steve had already seem him earlier, hightailing it out of his driveway. Something had spooked him, and Steve had a fair idea what.

The scene backstage was chaotic. A dancer was sat in a chair, a bag of ice to his neck, and the other dancers fussing around him.

Steve spotted the guy he needed; the bouncer, looking salty as usual. He approached the guy and asked, “What happened here?”

Sam said bluntly, “We got a problem with a dead snake.”

“Gee, that’s funny,” Steve said. “So do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> ~  
> Chapter Two warnings in full: 
> 
> Brock surprises Bucky and holds him at knife-point with abusive/verbal threats until Sam comes to the rescue, and he breaks Brock’s arm. Bucky remains unharmed. It’s a brief description and not too graphic. 
> 
> Also, one of the dancers has a snake in their routine (it’s in the movie) but when their snake gets bumped off (I’m so sorry!) Off-page, another snake is brought in but it coils around the dancer too tightly.   
> Again, it’s a brief description and not too graphic.
> 
> ~
> 
> Thank you all for reading so far!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three warnings: 
> 
> minor character death (sorry! see tags on main for who dies) brief description of dead body in a morgue, gallows humor, canon-typical violence, off-page violence, attempted sexual harassment, Pierce being really sleazy, threats with guns, and the bad guys get theirs!  
> ~  
> ~

_Medical Examiner Department, Miami-Dade County_

 

Inside the county morgue, the forensic assistant showed them to a table.

“Here comes that brilliant and charming attorney of yours, Mr Howard Stark,” Steve said, as the assistant pulled back the sheet to reveal the face of the corpse. “Coast guard found him four hundred yards offshore.”

Sam stared down at the corpse in shock, but Steve didn’t give him a moment.

He nodded to the assistant. “Now show him the rest.”

The sheet was pulled back to reveal the top half of the body, and Sam’s eyes grew wide in horror.

“Crabs find lawyers a particular delicacy,” the assistant remarked.

“Looks like lasagne,” Sam said weakly. “Cover that shit up.”

The assistant went to move the sheet, but Steve motioned him to stop. “You wanna tell me why your name was on his calendar for tomorrow?” Steve questioned.

“I was involved in litigation with a yoghurt company,” Sam said, still staring down at his now ex-lawyer.

Steve hmmed, not buying it. “From my limited experience, this manner of homicide isn’t something a yoghurt company would ordinarily do.” When Sam didn’t reply, he went on, “Mr Stark also represented the kid who got mauled at your club. Now _that_ I find fascinating, Sam.”

“He had a picture,” Sam began, but he pressed his lips together and looked like he was going to be sick. “Man, I’m gonna lose it…”

“A picture of what?” Steve pressed. “A certain legislator?”

“Yeah, beating a guy with a bottle.”

“And where’s the original? Who took it?”

“I got no idea,” Sam said with a heavy gulp.

Steve had all he needed for now. He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and offered it to Sam. “Here, freshen up.” Then he motioned to the assistant to cover the body. 

“Can I interest you in dessert?” the assistant quipped.

“Nah, just the check,” Steve replied, as Sam goggled at them both.

“Thanks,” Steve said to the assistant, then steered Sam out of the morgue. “So, Pierce didn’t invite Bucky back?” 

“He said no.”

“That’s good.” Steve walked Sam down the hallway. “I don’t think he should go there again, even with you.” He looked around to check they were alone, then added, “He seemed edgy tonight.”

“Man, he’s got his moods,” Sam huffed. “He’s up and down like that.”

Steve raised a sceptical brow. “So, you’re like the psychologist-bouncer, or bouncer-psychologist?”

“Hey.” Sam stopped walking and shrugged Steve’s hand off him. “I just watch out for the guy.”

“So do I,” Steve told him honestly. “That’s a grand total of two people in the whole of Florida. You know, the higher-ups in my department are _not_ pushing this investigation. Is this making any sense to you?”

“Because of this creep congressman?” Sam guessed.

“Bingo. We got two homicides here, and nobody gives a shit.” Steve paused, searching Sam’s face. “And I’m worried about Bucky. He’s out there all by himself.”            

~

~

Bucky pushed a chair against his apartment door, drawing all the blinds shut. He couldn’t sleep, he was too restless. He checked in on Natasha, pulling up the covers she’d kicked off in her sleep, and kissed her gently on her head of red hair.

He watched her sleeping a few moments, then decided he had to sort out all this mess once and for all.

Bucky wanted a normal life, for him and Natasha. They couldn’t have that if he had to keep looking over his shoulder all the time.

He picked up his phone, opened a browser page and started searching for of all the state’s major and local news channels.

~

~

“Yes, it is an unusual time for a news conference,” Bucky was saying into his phone, “but the congressman feels it will dramatize his message.”

He smiled when the operator said they’d send a camera crew.

“Thank you,” he said. “No, there won’t be any need to confirm. Goodbye.”

He was ending the call just as a sleepy Natasha wandered in, still wearing her pyjamas. Bucky smiled at her. “Good morning, pumpkin. How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” she answered. “How about you?”

“Well, I just… I slept great, honey.” Bucky hadn’t slept a wink, but he could maybe catch a nap later. “Want some cereal?”

Natasha was busy turning on the TV and grabbing a comforter from the couch. “Not right now, Daddy.”

Bucky watched her fondly for a few moments, then went back to his calls.

Only a couple more to go.

“Hello, CNN? News desk, please.” He drummed his fingers on the counter top as he waited. When someone answered, he gave his name as James. “I’m calling from Congressman Pierce’s office. Arnim Zola asked me to call about the news conference at the refinery tonight…”

~

~

“Quit moving!” Sin snapped at Brock, as she strapped a golf club to his arm in a makeshift splint. She glared at her brother. “Whose Mercedes is that? It’s never yours.”

“Some orthodontist from Tampa,” Brock answered.

So he’d stolen it. “God, Brock what would Mom say?”

“She’d say, nice fucking car!” Brock retorted, then yelped when Sin smacked him round the head.

“You got a mouth like a sewer, Brock.”

“I need some morphine,” he moaned. “I’m in agony here.”

“I don’t have any for humans.”

Brock looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“All I got is some from when Lupa had her cubs,” Sin explained.

“ _Wolf_ morphine?”

“I don’t know.” Sin rummaged through the counter for the bottle, and checked the label. “I think so. Says morphine.”

“So gimme!” Brock demanded. “I’m dying. Busted arm, two nights in jail…”

“Yeah, yeah, Brock.” Sin had no sympathy. “How’d you break it?”

“Playing polo with Donald Trump, okay?” Brock held out his hand for the bottle.

Sin handed it over. “It says you take two every four hours with a bowl of milk.”

“Sounds good to me.” Brock uncapped the bottle, upending it into his mouth to guzzle them down.

“I said _two_!” Sin thumped him hard, knocking him out of his chair.        

~

~

“Throw down a spade or seven unless you have an eight,” Natasha was explaining, holding her cards. “Then you can change.”

“So, that’s why they call it Crazy Eights?” Clint mused.

Natasha nodded. She was wearing a purple feather boa, borrowed from Clint.

Catching sight of her daddy, Natasha asked him, “When are you coming back?”

“By two, pumpkin, but I hope _you_ will be asleep.”

“We’ll take care of her.” Clint put his arm around Natasha.

 

Fury stomped in, noticed what Bucky was wearing –a shiny black coat over his stripper clothes—and said incredulously, “You’re going out?”

“I’ll be back by two,” Bucky assured him. “I’ll dance the late shift.”

“Can you tell me where--”

“Nope, I can’t.” Bucky turned to kiss Natasha on top of her head. “You be good, pumpkin.”

“I will,” she promised.

“She’ll be fine, Buck,” Clint told him. “Don’t worry.”

Bucky left, but on his way out he ran into Sam.

“You’re going to the boat?”

Bucky remained silent.

Sam shook his head. “Not without me.”

“No, Sam.” Bucky moved around him. “I gotta go alone.”      

“ _What?_ ” Sam followed him. “Bucky. Hey! Wait up. You said you weren’t going.”

Bucky hated lying to Sam. He was pretty much his best friend. “I didn’t want anybody to know, Sam.”

“Like who?”

“Like Rogers, that’s who.”

“Then just say, Sam, don’t tell Rogers.” Sam touched Bucky’s shoulder, getting him to stop. “What’s up?”

“What’s _up?_ ” Bucky tried to keep his cool, but it was hard. “They said they’ll put Natasha in a _foster home_ if I don’t keep my mouth shut.”

Sam frowned at this. “Says who?”

“Pierce’s guy, that creep Zola.” Bucky huffed in frustration, then looked imploringly at Sam. “Promise me you will stay with her every second. I need to know that.”

“Bucky… I can’t let you go there alone.”

“They’re gonna pay me, Sam. I need the money. I need to get out of here and live a normal…” Bucky gestured at himself, “ _fully dressed_ life, with shopping lists and school for Natasha. Besides, if they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it already.”

Sam looked pained. He clearly wasn’t happy with this. “Let me get this straight. So, you gonna go there, dance, and come back here.”

“Correct,” Bucky lied.

“Something’s up, Bucky, I know you…”

“I’ve got it under control.” Another lie, but Bucky had no choice. “Promise me you’ll stay with Natasha every second? I’ll see you later.”

Bucky dashed off to the waiting car; a limo, no less.

The driver opened the door for him, tipping his hat. “Good evening,” he said, as Bucky got in with his bag.

“Uh, hi.” Bucky replied.

He looked over at Sam one last time before the door shut, and the limo pulled away.

 

From a gloomy section of the parking lot, Brock Rumlow peered over the steering wheel of his stolen car, watching his ex-husband all dolled up and being driven off someplace.

Swallowing back more pills, Brock started the car, and followed.

~

~

It was a long drive to Miami Beach.

Inside the limo, Bucky carefully applied eyeliner to his eyes. He happened to look up and catch the driver glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry,” the guy said politely.

Bucky had a gut feeling, and he moved closer to the open partition. “Say, pal. What do you think about the people you work for?”

A short exhale, and the guy said flatly, “They’re filth. Exploiters of the poor.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. “I think you and I are gonna get along just fine. What’s your name?”

“James Rhodes, but call me Rhodey.”

~

~

“For five thousand dollars I expect to get laid,” Pierce was saying. “It’s only human.”

“Listen to me,” Zola tried to interject, but Pierce wasn’t listening.

“That beautiful boy doesn’t understand,” Pierce said. “He doesn’t understand what it’s like to make love to a congressman. The ecstasy, the wonderful--”

“Listen to me, you sick fuck!” Zola shouted, finally getting Pierce’s attention. “He’s been meeting with a cop.”

Pierce blinked at the news, then grinned. “Maybe he’s from the booty squad.”

“He’s homicide,” Zola said flatly, whipping out a photograph to show Pierce. It was a shot of Bucky leaning out his car window to talk to a man in another car. “And that’s not all. Your boy used to work at the FBI as a secretary, and before that he was in the U.S. army. A sergeant, no less,” Zola spat. “This bastard is poison. He’s out to slaughter us.”

Pierce was holding the photograph, shocked to his core. “But… my angel, I thought…”

“Look, Alex,” Zola said in resignation. “Have your fun with him, then let us handle it. I’ll be on the top deck.”

~

~

Zola didn’t have to wait too long before the limo approached the dock. The driver opened the door, and the stripper got out, alone.

He’d brought a small bag with him, and he walked across the gang plank and onto the boat with confidence.

“We’re heavy,” Sitwell’s voice crackled over the walkie talkie.

Zola adjusted his spectacles, trying to see which button to press. He answered, “Copy.”

The sooner this night was over, the better.

~

~

“No cheating,” Pietro warned, watching his opponents across the board game.

Sam shook the dice. “One, two, three…” he counted, moving his piece, but it was clear he was going to land on a snake.

Clint laughed at him. “Doesn’t look good, man.”

Sam sighed as he moved his piece accordingly down the snake; he was now coming last in the game. “Can’t get a break,” he grumbled.

“Sam is losing spectacularly,” Clint chuckled. “All right, Miss Natasha. It’s your turn next!”

Natasha rolled the dice. “Six!” she crowed in delight.

Sam frowned. “She always gets six.”

“Don’t be jealous of a kid, Sam,” Clint tutted.              

~

~

Congressman Pierce seemed particularly eager tonight, like he didn’t want to sit still.

Bucky danced for him on the table again, stripping down to his booty shorts and a black feather boa. He anticipated the moment Pierce tried to lurch forward with grabby-hands.

Bucky held onto the low ceiling for balance, and used a booted foot on Pierce’s shoulder to shove the man back in his seat.

“Down, boy. Be patient.”

“Don’t tease me!”

“Oh, I’m not teasing,” Bucky said calmly, still dancing. “You just sit back and relax, have yourself another drink...” He slid the boa off one shoulder and winked. “Because tonight is the night.”

Pierce grinned in delight. “It sure is, darlin’.”

~

Up on the top deck, Zola watched the scene through the skylight. He muttered to himself, wondering how much longer Pierce was going to be.

He didn’t notice the hulking figure creep up behind him until a hard kick knocked him down, and he dropped his comm. “Agh! Who are you?” he demanded.

“I want my daughter!” the man insisted. He was dripping wet; he must’ve swam over and climbed aboard.

“What?” Zola had no idea who this lunatic was, and tried to grab his comm. “Rollins!” But there was no answer.

“My little ‘un,” the man slurred, clearly intoxicated. “I want her.”

Zola couldn’t believe this was happening. “Whoever she is, she is _not_ here, I assure you,” he tried to placate.

The man noticed the skylight, and peered down into it.

“What’s this? _Damn_ ,” he muttered. “Lookee here. Well, there’s a sight to raise the dead.” He leered happily, then must've noticed the congressman. “Hey. Who’s that old freak?”

Zola used this moment of distraction to grab for a weapon; there was an emergency axe on board, and Zola picked it up.

“Hold on a second,” the man exclaimed, “I know who that is. Is that that guy from Price Is Right?”

He looked over, just in time to see Zola try to heft the axe at him. “Hey!” He used his splinted arm to knock Zola back, and the axe clattered uselessly to the floor. Zola cried out as he went down too.

“Damn!” The man loomed over him. “You got my daughter  _and_ my husband down there, and now you try and kill me with an axe?”

“I don’t have your daughter,” Zola insisted, “you are confused.”

“I’m stoned, but I ain’t confused.” He raised his splinted arm and used it to club Zola with.

He smacked him again and again and again.

~

~

Pierce knocked back the last of his drink, then tossed the glass aside. It smashed on the floor.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that, but kept dancing.

“Before we make love,” Pierce made to grab for him again, “I wish to shave you.”

Bucky placed the palm of his hand against Pierce’s forehead, holding him off. “I don’t need a shave,” he said firmly.

A clunk and a crash signalled a door opening, and Brock Rumlow of all people stumbled into the cabin.

“Evening, partygoers,” he slurred, coming to a stop and wiggling his hips to the music with a stupid grin on his face.

Things were going to hell, fast. And Bucky had run out of patience.

~

~

Steve marched into Fury’s, and went straight up to Sam. “Where’s Bucky?”

Sam was silent, but his eyes darted away.

“I don’t hear you,” Steve pressed. “ _Where_ is Bucky?”

“Oh, shit.” Sam took a deep breath, then told Steve where Bucky was.

Steve gave him a hard look. “Natasha in the dressing room?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, bring her too. Come on.”

Sam went to fetch her, while Steve cursed and ran his hands through his hair.

What the hell did Bucky think he was doing?

When Sam emerged from the dressing room with Natasha, two of the strippers came with her.

“Is my daddy okay?” Natasha asked, holding onto Clint’s hand and hurrying along with them to Steve’s car.

“He’s fine, honey,” Steve said, holding the car door open for her. “We’re gonna pick him up now. Get in.”

“We’ll play card games, have some fun!” Clint sing-songed as he got in the back with Natasha.

“I’m coming too!” Pietro climbed in after them, and Steve shut the door.

Sam looked at him over the top of the car. “Man, he won’t like this. He told me--”

“I don’t care what he told you!” Steve snapped. “How could you let him go alone?”

~

~

“Brock, I thought you were in jail,” Bucky gritted out.

“I made my bail.”

“Who’s he?” Pierce demanded.

“Hang on just a sec, Mr Pierce,” Bucky told him.

Brock pulled a coin from his pocket, holding it out toward Bucky. “Here’s a nickel, sweetheart. Nice dance.”

Bucky glared at him, then pushed Brock’s hand away. “Would you please just get out of here?”

“Hey...” Brock turned his attention to Pierce. “Are you that guy from Price ls Right?”

Pierce looked bemused. “No? I’m Congressman Alexander Pierce.”

“Congressman?” Now Brock seemed confused.

“Yeah.”

Bucky couldn’t believe this, and he quietly backed away from both idiots, and toward his bag.

“Congressman, huh?” Brock rambled on. “No shit. Well, I steal wheelchairs, so we got a lot in common.” He wobbled on his feet, than sank into the cushioned seats. “I’m getting tired. I think I just killed a lying weasel.”

“You did what?” Pierce asked.

“Beat him with this here club.” Brock waved his splinted arm.

Pierce glanced up at the skylight, and his expression changed to anger. “You need to get out!” Pierce kicked at Brock’s legs, but the man was pliant and relaxed now. “Go on, leave us alone! I’m about to mount this here beauty…”

Pierce turned away from Brock, and found himself staring down the barrel of the automatic Bucky aimed at him.

“…or maybe not,” Pierce amended.

“Hey, you’re talking about my husband,” Brock argued sleepily.

Bucky kept his gun on Pierce. “It’s time for us to take a little drive.”

~

~

“Zola?” Sitwell said into the comm.

No reply.

“Zola!” Sitwell said again.

When it was met with silence, he shared a look with Rollins, and they both hurried up to the top deck.

 

As soon as they’d gone up top, Bucky peered around the corner, checking the coast was clear. “Move it,” he hissed at his hostages, hustling them across the deck at gunpoint.

“Yessir!” Pierce said obediently.

Brock kept stumbling, and Bucky told him, “Keep quiet!”

 

Up on deck, Rollins and Sitwell found a very beaten up, but still alive, Arnim Zola. “Shit, look at this.”

“Help me, you assholes,” Zola muttered, his face a bruised and bloody mess.

“ _Help!_ ” a voice called out in the night air. They looked out at the dock, seeing the congressman being herded to the limo by the stripper.

“Hey! Stop right there!” Rollins shouted. He aimed his gun and opened fire. The bullets bounced off the car, just missing the targets.

~

 

Down on the dock, Pierce and Brock were safely bundled into the limo, Bucky sat opposite them as it drove away. He kept his gun on them at all times.

“I voted against gun control,” Pierce was saying, slumped in his seat. “Weapons can end up in the wrong hands.”

“Will you please shut up?” Bucky said, exasperated. Turning to Rhodey, he asked, “Those idiots can’t follow us, can they?”

Rhodey glanced down at the car battery sitting next to him, stolen from Zola’s car. “Not without this,” he confirmed with a smile.

Bucky nodded his head, then turned his attention back to his hostages.

“That fracture looks bad,” Pierce mused, looking at Brock’s splinted arm, now splotched with blood. “We ought to drop him off at the doctor.”

Bucky aimed his gun at Pierce. “We’re not dropping anybody anywhere.”

“My sister done up my arm,” Brock said, slurring again.

“Oh, really? I’m a great believer in family,” Pierce said.

Bucky rolled his eyes, then quickly asked Rhodey, “Do you have a pen and paper?”

“It didn’t feel the way I thought it would, killing a man,” Brock was saying.

“Killing a man?” Pierce looked concerned.

“It felt terrible.” Brock had that drunken remorse thing going on right now; Bucky had seen it all before.

“Brock, I want you to write something,” he told his ex, handing him the pen and paper. “I want you to give me custody of Natasha.”

“No way.” Brock shook his head.

“Brock, you are going to jail for what you did tonight,” Bucky told him, “and I will not have my daughter placed in a foster home. So please. A simple note,” he calmly dictated, “I, Brock Rumlow…”

“But I love that little ‘un,” Brock whined.

“I know you do.” Bucky said, then continued to dictate, “…give full custody…”

“You do?” Brock looked at him. Or rather, tried to focus on him with bleary eyes.

“Yes, I do. So, let’s do this for her. Let’s not put her at risk anymore,” Bucky said. “…to my ex-husband, James Barnes.”

“Okay,” Brock said miserably.

“Good boy,” Bucky told him, watching as Brock tried to write.

Pierce watched too, then commented, “You know, you write quite poorly. Are you a high-school graduate?”

Brock’s eyes closed and he promptly fell asleep.

Bucky cursed under his breath. “Dammit, Brock.”

~

~

“Everybody just stay put, all right?” Steve told Sam and the others, then he ran to the boat. He drew his gun as he bounded over the gang plank.

Things were quiet, and his gut was telling him that no one was here.

No one alive, anyway. But he had to check.

Heart pounding, he stepped inside the main cabin. There was no one there, but in the bathroom someone had scrawled in eyeliner on the mirror, _Belle Glade refinery_.

“What the hell is he up to?” Steve muttered, before running back out again.

~

~

_Belle Glade refinery, South Bay_

 

At the sugar refinery, Rhodey drove them right into the outside section of the plant, only partially lit, and parked the limo. He opened the door for Bucky, who ushered Pierce out.

Pierce was squirming as he stood up. “My prostate doctor said that I have to urinate whenever possible.”

Bucky made a face. “Then go relieve yourself over there.” He pointed with the gun. “Rhodey? Keep an eye on him.”

Rhodey nodded, and escorted a squirming Mr Pierce away.

Bucky turned his attention to Brock, who was still passed out in the back of the car.

He placed the gun on the seat, and picked up the pen and paper, finishing the note himself. Then he tried to shake Brock awake. “Wake up, Brock. Come on.” He put the pen in Brock’s writing hand, and held the paper for him. “You gotta sign this. Sign your name, that’s all you gotta do before you get arrested,” he fibbed.

Brock was blinking blearily, not quite able to write with his wobbly hand. “Come on, now. Sign your name.”

Well, that was almost a scrawl. Bucky got impatient, and reached over to move Brock’s hand for him. “There you go… Brock Rumlow. _Good boy_. Good.”

Finally he had a way to get Natasha back.

Bucky grinned at the note, as Brock fell asleep again.

He was so distracted, he didn’t realise someone had crept up behind him until he was being grabbed, arms clamping around him like a vice.

Bucky cried out in surprise, as Pierce announced, “That’s right, I’m back!”

Bucky wanted to deck the bastard, but the gun was sitting inside the car, and he still needed to execute his plan.

“No more teasing,” Pierce breathed into Bucky’s ear.

 _Ew, gross_. But he needed to do this.

Bucky forced himself to relax in Pierce’s arms. “Oh, finally,” he said breathily.

Pierce paused in surprise. “What?”

“Finally you’re gonna take me like a _man_ ,” Bucky praised, leaning back into Pierce and pressing his butt against the man’s groin. “Like a _congressman_.”

“I knew you cared for me,” Pierce said, delight in his voice. “Zola didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“Enough talk,” Bucky breathed, forcing seduction into his voice. “Now, _take me_.”

“Here?” Pierce asked.

“Oh, I got a special spot picked out for us,” Bucky teased. “Just get that cell phone for me, will you, honey? I need to have a little music on when I make love.”

~

~

“Sorry, boss,” Rollins apologised, as the three of them sat crammed in the back of a cab, speeding toward the sugar refinery.

Sitwell added, “It all happened so fast!”

“Shut up, you idiots,” Zola snapped. “We have a crazy stripper about to bring us all down.” He winced at the pain in his swollen face. “How do I look?”

“Erm… Not bad?” Sitwell lied.

~

~

With Pierce’s arm clamped around his neck, Bucky ushered the creep away from the limo.

“This way,” he said, heart beating a mile a minute.

Rounding a corner, Bucky spotted Rhodey lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. “What happened to him?”

“I hit him in the head with a rock,” Pierce boasted. “Who’s the man?

“You’re the man,” Bucky told him, fighting to keep his voice even. “You are the man, and so strong.” He pulled Pierce along, through the plant’s clear space and toward a large white, powdery pile.

“Well, here we are.”

Pierce seemed confused. “Here?”

“You ever make it on a pile of sugar before?” Bucky breathed at him.

“No, but I’m willing to try,” Pierce said with a chuckle. He let his arm fall, and Bucky kept up the sultry act as he turned to face him.

“Well, you’re in for a treat.”

“You’re in for a treat too, darlin’.”

Bucky’s skin was crawling, but he forced his smile to stay on. “Now, if you just hand me the music player, I’ll set the mood while you take off those pretty little pants.”

“You’d better put on some blast goggles,” Pierce grinned, handing over the phone and undoing his belt, “because you’re in for an overwhelming sight.”

~

~

“Shit!” Sam cursed when Steve told him where Bucky was headed. “Radio for help!”

“What do I tell them?” Steve holstered his gun and frowned at Sam. “Congressman Pierce abducted a dancer? They’ll shut off their radios and go help the creep.”

Sam looked back at him. “So, we’re it? A cop and a bouncer.”

“Plus two dancers and a kid,” Steve pointed out. “We’re in great shape.”

They got back into the car, and drove off.

~

~

Bucky fought real hard to keep the disgust off his face as Pierce stripped out of his pants, tossing them to the ground. He stood there in just his shirt and underpants.

“Um,” Bucky stalled, fiddling with his smartphone, “Gee, the music seems to have paused…” He pulled up the voice recorder app and pressed record, keeping the phone in his hand as he gave Pierce his best smile. “I’ll get it started in a second…”

“That’s fine, darlin’.” Pierce came forward, and crowded Bucky against the wall. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“No,” Bucky agreed, “you sure aren’t.”

“So, how come here? How come not that yacht?” Pierce asked.

“I’m kind of private,” Bucky told him, “I don’t like people watching me.”

“Me neither. I don’t like anything kinky.”

“I know you don’t,” Bucky flirted with him, resting his arms on Pierce’s shoulders so he could angle the phone just right. “You’re a real man, Mr Pierce. I knew it when Karpov was killed, and Sam’s lawyer. I said, Mr Pierce is the real thing. He’s the man.”

Pierce grinned under the praise. His arms snaked around Bucky’s bare waist and stroked his skin. “A man blackmails you, you got to deal with it. You got to be hard and _firm_.” He thrust his groin at Bucky, startling a noise out of him.

“My, you… sure are,” Bucky tried so desperately not to squirm away.

“Marry me,” Pierce said.

Bucky nearly dropped his phone. “ _What?”_

“Marry me. Just say it.”

“You _are_ married,” Bucky pointed out.

“I know,” Pierce lamented. “But I’d leave my wife in a heartbeat. She wouldn’t care. She doesn’t like me anyhow.”

“Well, this is all very sudden,” Bucky stalled, “and I have a lot to think about…”

“I’ll make you proud of me.”

“I know you would,” Bucky steered them back on track. “It’s like when Karpov said he was gonna shake down Pierce, and I said, are you crazy? Blackmail a real man like that?”

“I said to Zola, just do what you have to do to Karpov,” Pierce said, “and that sleazy lawyer. Just do it!”

“Just do it, huh?” Bucky said, eyes darting to the phone screen to make sure it was still recording.

“Just do it!” Pierce confirmed. “And he did.”

Bucky smiled. _Got you, you asshole_. “He sure did, Mr Pierce.”

“You idiot!” a voice shouted, startling them both.

“Shit.” Bucky tried to step away, seeing Zola and his cronies, but Pierce wouldn’t let him go.

“Zola, you’re alive!” Pierce said happily. “I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé.” His arm tightened round Bucky’s waist as Bucky swatted his hand away. “This is…! Um, what was your name again, darlin’?”

“Sorry, Alex,” Zola sighed. “But now _both_ of you have to disappear.”

At this, Sitwell and Rollins raised their guns.

Pierce let go of Bucky and gaped at Zola. “You can’t do that!”

“Von Strucker’s orders.”

“You’re a sick one, Zola,” Bucky said. He had keep the creep talking while he was still trying to figure a way out of this new mess.

“Murder-suicide, Mr Barnes,” Zola told him.

“Suicide?” Pierce squeaked.

“Quite a story, isn’t it?” Zola looked pleased with himself; he was unaware of Sam coming into view behind him. “A congressman, and a stripper.”

Bucky had never been so relieved to see Sam. To keep Zola talking, he said loudly, “Excuse you. _What_ did you call me?”

“A stripper,” Zola snapped back, then winced from his swollen face.

“Dancer, asshole,” Sam replied from behind them.

Rollins and Sitwell whirled around, pointing their guns.

Sam stood firm, even with two guns trained on him. “Drop them,” he ordered. “You got till three. One.” He began to walk toward them.

“What are you, nuts?” Sitwell shouted.

“Yeah,” Sam said calmly, “psycho. Delusions of invincibility combined with a strong homicidal urge.” Sam grinned. “I have a kick-your-ass fetish. Two.”

Bucky watched Sam, who rolled his neck to Bucky’s right, an indication that he wanted Bucky to take out Sitwell. Bucky nodded.

Rollins and Sitwell were looking to Zola. “Boss?” Rollins asked, “Do we…?”      

A shot rang out; Rollins shouted in pain and dropped his gun, clutching his hand.      

“Three!” Sam leapt forward. Bucky moved too, kicking the gun out of Sitwell’s hands, then kneeing Sitwell in the gut. Rollins was being taken care of by Sam.

“No! No! Shit!” Zola cursed, dropping to the ground to retrieve Rollins’ gun.

Steve stepped out from behind a pillar, his gun already trained on Zola. “Good evening,” he said calmly, as Zola squawked in surprise and put his hands up.

“You’re now under arrest,” Steve told Zola and his henchmen, herding the three of them together, away from Bucky and Sam. “For a variety of charges. Why don’t we start with homicide?” Steve said. “Murder, blackmail, extortion. This is just the tip of the iceberg, you understand.”

Zola scoffed. “You’re not arresting anyone. Not once I call Baron von Strucker about this…”

 

Over by the car, Brock was waking up. “I need coffee,” he grunted.

Brock staggered over to what looked like a coffee machine. It had a lot of buttons on it, anyway. “Black,” he said to himself, pressing a random button. “No sugar.”

A warning alarm sounded as a hatch opened in the ceiling, and dumped half a ton of fine milled sugar onto Zola, Sitwell and Rollins.

Brock thought he was seeing things. “I said _no_ sugar,” he mumbled, before passing out again.

 

Steve was amused by the sight of Zola trapped in the mound of white granules. “You fellas just sit tight,” he said, “and I’ll read you your rights.”

Seeing the coast was clear, Clint and Pietro rushed in, holding Natasha’s hands between them. “Hey! There’s a whole load of vans pulling up outside,” Clint told them.

“Daddy!” Natasha ran for Bucky, and he picked her up.

“Hey, pumpkin.” He held her tight, surprised and relieved to see her.

“You okay, Daddy?” she asked.

“I’m just fine, baby,” Bucky said, looking to Steve and Sam with a smile. “We’re just fine.”      

 

“Congressman!” A reporter ran over, mic in hand. The cameramen hurried along behind her. “You called for a news conference?”

She stopped short and surveyed the scene; the congressman without his pants on, a whole mess of people, and what looked like three go-go dancers in sparkly shorts and tight tank tops, one of them holding a kid. “Holy shit,” she said with glee.

“Er… Thank you,” Pierce strode forward, trying to salvage the situation. “There comes a time in every public figure’s career… er… when he has to think about his future.”

~

~

“You are making a mistake!” Pierce was yelling as the cops manhandled him into the back of a car, reporters and photographers clamouring after him.

Bucky grinned as he watched Pierce go. _Good riddance._

The sun was just starting to rise over the sugar fields. He turned to Steve, who was listening to the playback on Bucky’s phone.

Pierce’s voice was tinny but clear as it said, _“Karpov, and that sleazy lawyer, just do it! And he did.”_

Steve pressed stop, and pocketed the phone. He shook his head with a smile. “Do you have any idea how nuts this was?”

“Pretty nuts?” Bucky guessed.

“You got that right.”

“Daddy?” A sleepy Natasha popped her head out the limo’s back window.

“We’re going, baby,” he assured her. “Just a minute.”

She nodded at him, watching with a smile.

Bucky turned back to Steve and smiled at him. “Thank you for all your help.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Steve’s answering smile was like sunshine. He was standing there in just his shirt and shoulder holster, having offered Bucky his jacket in the morning chill.

Bucky went to take off the jacket, to return it, but Steve gestured for him to keep it on.

“Why don’t I… drop by tomorrow evening?” Steve suggested. “Collect my jacket, give you back your phone… And see how you’re doing.”

Bucky’s smile grew wider. “I’d like that.”

“You’ll have to keep me posted on what you decide to do now,” Steve told him.

“Maybe I’ll run for Congress?”

“There’s gonna be a seat open,” Steve quipped.

They grinned at each other a moment longer, then Bucky really had to leave, as much as he wanted to stay and flirt.

“Talk to you soon, Steve.”

He got into the limo, shutting the door behind him.

Inside the car, Bucky hugged Natasha to him. Across from them, Pietro was half asleep and draped over Clint.

From the driver’s seat, Sam turned to look at Bucky. “You shouldn’t have done this without me.”

“I know,” Bucky told him. “It won’t happen again.” He smiled at his friend, and Sam nodded at him before setting his eyes on the road. Rhodey, patched up and awake, next to him.

Natasha sat up and looked out the window. “Wave to Steve,” she told Bucky, waving at the lieutenant.

Bucky chuckled. “Sure, baby.” He held onto Natasha, and gave Steve a wave too. Steve saw them, and gave a fond smile.

“Bye, Steve.” Bucky smirked at him. “See you soon.”


	4. Chapter Four

It was getting late, and Bucky was starting to doubt if Steve was going to make it tonight.

It wasn’t like he could call to check; Steve had Bucky’s cell phone.

They had to be pretty busy wrapping up this case, Bucky told himself. He tried not to think about it too much, and cooked a nice pasta meal for him and Natasha.

At least he could relax now; Brock couldn’t have Natasha, and they were _free_.

Bucky didn’t have to work tonight, so after dinner he snuggled on the couch with his girl and they watched her favorite Disney movies.

It was perfect. Though he did check the time now and then, wondering if and when Steve would drop by.

Natasha seemed to sense his unease, and sat in his lap for a cuddle. “Are you alright, Daddy?” she asked, voice muffled against his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. “I’m great, pumpkin pie.”

Another movie later, Bucky got Natasha ready for bed. He read her a story as she curled up with her soft toys, and her eyes slowly closed.

Bucky turned on her night light, and left her sleeping. It wasn’t much later when there was a soft knock at the apartment door, making his heart skip.

“Wasn’t sure you were coming,” he said when he opened the door.

Steve smiled at him, looking dishevelled but relaxed. “I apologise for being late,” he said, stepping into the hall as Bucky shut the door, “but we had to tie up all these loose ends some wise guy named Barnes had left for us.”

Bucky laughed quietly. “Loose ends? I practically handed you the crooks on a platter, Steve.”

“That you did. Oh, I have your phone for you.” Steve pulled out Bucky’s cell and handed it over. “We took a copy of the recording, so you can have it back now.”

“Thank you. I’m gonna need this to look for a new job.”

“Speaking of which,” Steve fished a card out of his pocket, “Peggy wanted me to give you this. It’s a contact of hers at the FBI here in Miami. Says they should have an opening soon for a secretary, and she wondered if you’d be interested. She can recommend you.”

“Seriously?” Bucky took the card and stared at it, feeling overwhelmed. “This is... Oh, my God, I don’t have the words! Steve, I could literally kiss you right now.”

Letting out a small huff, Steve stepped in close. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Bucky moved in too, gazing up at Steve. Their bodies inched closer, faces angling in.

“I hope this isn’t the only reason you want to kiss me?” Steve murmured.

Bucky smiled at him, before touching his fingers to Steve’s chin. “You know it isn’t.”

He pressed his lips to Steve’s, closed his eyes, and kissed him.

~

 

Natasha had heard voices talking; one was her daddy, and the other voice was the nice cop she liked, Steve.

She stealthily crept out of bed and, when the voices went quiet, she peeped around the corner.

Her daddy and Steve were in the hallway, kissing softly with arms wrapping around each other.

Natasha grinned happily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~  
> ~  
> In 2016 Striptease the movie will be 20 years old. (Wow!) It’s worth noting that same-sex marriage has only been legally recognized in Florida since January 6, 2015. It took so long, but let’s hope it stays that way!
> 
> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> And thank you again to **Nevermindirah** for being awesome!  <3
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote another [stripper Bucky fic here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11280435). 
> 
> I am on [tumblr](http://jro616.tumblr.com) and also [twitter](https://twitter.com/jro616).
> 
> Here is a [rebloggable post on tumblr for this fic](https://jro616.tumblr.com/post/169146034425/striptease).


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